Little Bitty Puzzle Pieces
by pjzallday
Summary: In the wake of the apocalypse, Buffy and the survivors attempt to rebuild their lives; one man's journey of discovery has begun; and an unexpected new evil is on the rise. Complete
1. Rescue

Little Bitty Puzzle Pieces

Disclaimer: Precious few of the characters are mine... Most of them belong to Joss and his band of merry Mutants. I just borrow them from time to time.

Feedback: Always welcome... usually appreciated.

Author's Notes: I spent a great deal of time during the final season of BtVS observing and speculating about the possible causes of continuity problems. In the end, it would seem that these were the result of real world troubles (like actor availability) not the brilliant writing of evil geniuses. (That's certainly not to say the gang at ME aren't geniuses --- I doubt anyone would argue the evil --- it's just the issues were never explained on-screen so... ) 

This story was inspired in part by a series of my speculative "Thoughts from the Shower".

It's not meant as a 'ship piece, but 'ships (B/A and B/S primarily) will play a role.

Post-"Chosen" BtVS 7x22

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One:  RESCUE 

"Is it much further?" Bobbi Kraus called from the back of their Recreational Vehicle.  

Behind the wheel, her husband Jim grumbled, "How the hell should I know?"

Spring was late in coming to their home in Central Alberta, so the retirees had stayed longer at their winter place in Arizona.  As they were packing up for their trip north, the Krauses heard about a community the size of their home town that had been swallowed up in some kind of geological disruption.  Curious, they decided to drive up the California coast to have a look.    

It was evening by the time they arrived.  Standing at the edge of the crater, they marvelled at its size, snapped a few twilight shots and briefly pondered the lives of the people who'd lived there.  But the tourists didn't stay long. 

The hot sticky day's drive and months away from home had made them punchy --- and sweaty --- and seeing the devastation of the town only made them worry about their own home.  Deciding the best course of action would be to turn in and make an early start in the morning, they were keen to find a place to park.  Bobbi suggested they head to the ocean where they could take a dip to cool off before bedding down for the night.  Her husband agreed and soon they were on their way down a dirt road toward the Pacific.  As luck would have it, the road eventually linked with what the pair supposed was the road from the town to the beach and they found a vacant parking lot that seemed a good enough place to set up camp for the night.

After having a bite to eat, the Krauses climbed out of the camper and strolled to the beach to watch the sunset.

The sky was aglow of pinks and oranges as the sun slid into the sea.  In the warm ambient light, Bobbi was admiring the silhouette of a nearby bluff when she noticed what appeared to be somebody amongst the rocks at its base.  Motioning in the direction of her discovery, the concerned woman looked to her husband for confirmation that it was, as she thought, a person --- most likely a man.  

"Hey there!" Jim called out.  "You alright?"

The figure remained motionless slumped beside a large bolder.  

"C'mon Jim.  Go check on 'im," his wife urged, shoving him along anxiously from behind.

Shrugging her off, he complied.  "Fine."  As he got closer, Kraus felt a building sense of dread in his stomach; he was convinced they'd stumbled upon a corpse.  "Hey... buddy?"  Taking a deep breath for strength, he crouched and nervously reached to touch the outstretched hand of the prone form.  "Cold," he gulped.

More boldly, Bobbi insisted, "We've gotta check for a pulse."  She put two finger tips to one side of the body's throat.  "I think." She paused then, smiling, declared, "He's got a pulse.  It's weak, but I'm... I'm pretty sure there's a pulse."

"Should we move 'im?" Jim questioned uncertainly.  

"We've got to at least get him to the beach," suggested his wife.  "He could drown here."

"Sure."  Lowering his voice, he added, "We're out in the middle of nowhere.  This guy looks pretty bad; he might not be able to wait for an ambulance."

"Yeah.  I think yer right." 

Shortly thereafter, they'd slung the frail form of a young man between their shoulders and were doing their best to carrying him to their camper.  

"You got him?" asked Bobbi as she fumbled for her keys and opened the RV door.  

The retirees struggled to manoeuvre the near life-less body through the narrow opening and into the living quarters.  Once inside, they eased the man down onto their banquette and let out relieved sighs.  

"Better keep him off his back," Bobbi advised, while searching the overhead bin for supplies.  "Sunburn's pretty bad."

Jim stood peering uncomfortably at the prone stranger.  "His breathing seem OK to you?" he muttered almost to himself.  Without waiting for his wife's reply, Jim moved for the driver's seat.  "Gotta get to a hospital."

***

_At the edge of sleep, he could feel her arm cradle his head and her free hand stroke his back.  They were together; he was content.  If only they could stay there forever._

***

Buffy sat with Giles and Dawn as they reviewed paperwork.  The few days following the Hellmouth battle had been hectic.  They'd contacted the families of each of the injured girls, assuring parents as best they could that their daughters would be fine and that every effort would be made to see them reimbursed for the costs incurred by the girls' hospitalization and subsequent travel expenses home.  

With many of the survivors already on their way and the remainder being released from hospital, the impact of what had happened in Sunnydale would soon begin to sink in.  There had been moments over the past days when Buffy felt sudden waves of panic, but now she feared those episodes would become all too frequent.  For years, she knew exactly what she was meant to do with her life.  She believed that, like it or not, her life would be spent in the thankless task of demon killing; it would be short and end violently.  Now, with dozens maybe hundreds of others taking up her Calling, Buffy had a real opportunity to choose another path.  Ultimately that choice, she would have to make alone.

"Ms. Summers?" a tall young man in a white coat with "B. Davies, M.D." stitched on it, approached with a clip board.

Buffy was thankfully distracted from her thoughts.  "Yes?" she replied as she rose to her feet.

"If you'll follow me," the emergency medical resident invited, "I'll have a look at those stitches."

It wasn't long before Dr. Davies had examined Buffy's wounds and was scribbling notes on her chart.  

Half-heartedly, Buffy inquired, "So we're all OK?" 

"Cuts --- even the deeper ones --- are all healing nicely.  Bruises and swelling are down.  You ladies are all going to be just fine," the young doctor assured.  "It's amazing, really, given all you've been through that no one was killed."  

When they'd first arrived a few days earlier, there was concern that the police would be brought in:  gang violence was suspected.  But Giles simply told the truth --- part of it --- that the group had narrowly escaped the collapse of the town of Sunnydale, which shortly after their arrival was all over the news.  Several of the girls had taken to posing for photos and doing interviews, but Buffy and the others who'd suffered the most physically and emotionally preferred to avoid the media frenzy.

"Excuse me."  The resident clutched at his beeper and headed for the admit desk.

"Thanks Doctor," Buffy said absently.  

His words had struck an uncomfortable chord:  "no one was killed".  But someone had been --- several people, in fact.  Buffy was suddenly overwhelmed by an emptiness she'd tried to reject for days.  Dazed, she wandered out of the emergency room, oblivious to the warnings to clear the hall and narrowly missing a gurney being wheeled in.  Once outside, she breathed deeply, sat down on the curb and cried.

***

"So what've we got," Doctor Davies asked the triage nurse as he entered the exam room.

"Unidentified white male.  Thirties.  Brought in by a couple of tourists.  Limited circulation to the extremities.  No visible sign of injury aside from the sunburned back.  Pulse is weak and thready.  B.P. seventy over forty," the nurse rattled off.  

"He's hypotensive.  Dehydrated.  Get a CBC.  Chem seven.  Check his lytes.  And start an IV," the resident requested as he began to examine the patient.  "Has he been lucid?"

She shook her head.  "No."

"Possibility of hypovolaemic shock.  May need to start a dopamine drip," Davies suggested.  "Where'd they find him?"

"On the beach up the coast."

"Add a tox screen.  Let me know when the blood work comes back."  He continued his assessment as the nurse fastened the IV.  "Hopefully if we can get some fluids into this guy, he'll come around."  Turning the man to examine his back, the doctor shook his head.  "Somebody should tell tourists you can't get a California tan in one day," he muttered noting the rawness of patient's blistering skin.  "Start him on prednisone, sixty milligrams pd. Ibuprofen for pain: four hundred milligrams every four hours. I'll see if I can get him a bed upstairs."

... Two:  REKINDLE


	2. Rekindle

Two:  REKINDLE 

As they pulled up in front of the old Hyperion Hotel, Buffy wondered if she was doing the right thing.  

"You want us to come?" Dawn asked.

"No," Buffy replied with an appreciative smile.  "You guys go get some lunch; do a little shopping."  The nervous young woman opened the van door and climbed out.  "Maybe you could call in a couple of hours?"

Giles nodded understandingly then Buffy closed the door and walked toward the hotel.

Although she'd telephoned Angel from Santa Barbara, Buffy hadn't actually spoken with him; she'd only left a brief message on his machine.  She wasn't even sure he'd gotten it, but hoped he'd be around.  Anxiously, she stepped inside.  

Willow hadn't exaggerated:  the lobby was huge!  Buffy descended the stairs in awe of the grandeur.  It was certainly different from the small but elegantly decorated basement suite over the offices from which he worked when she last visited him in L.A.

As she scanned the lobby, Angel appeared from the kitchenette, sipping from a mug of blood while reviewing a file.  "Buffy," Angel said breathily after he'd noticed her.

When she turned toward the voice, her wide olive eyes met his soft brown ones.  They simply stood and stared.

Smirking coyly, Buffy broke the silence.  "You could at least tell me you're happy to see me."

"Happy?"  Angel set down his mug and file then sauntered over to her.  "God Buffy!  I'm so relieved you're alright!"  With his arms wrapped around her tiny frame, he pulled her to his chest.  

In silence they stood holding each other:  the vampire drinking in the warmth of his former love; the young woman relaxing into the firm cool hold.  After a time, reluctantly, they separated.

"Well?" Buffy glanced awkwardly around the lobby.

At the same moment, Angel cleared his throat.  "So..."  He shuffled his feet.  "You did it.  It's over?" 

Buffy stepped to the couch and flopped down, releasing a deep sigh.  Nodding, the Slayer conceded, "It's over." 

"The amulet?"  Angel ducked his head to look apprehensively at her through his lashes.  "Was it any help?"

"It was," she said softly, her pride clear in the two simple words.  

Getting details was proving a challenge but Angel persisted.  "You found your champion, then?"  His tone was unintentionally but undeniably laced with disdain.  

Buffy sat completely still, and though her gaze was directed at the floor, it seemed she was a million miles away - or perhaps only a few hundred.  As she blinked back tears, she smiled.  "I did."

"And Spike?" he began snidely, "He's-"

Her steely eyes locked onto Angel's and she shook her head, daring him to keep talking.  "Gone," she bit sharply.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, assuming correctly what she meant:  that Spike hadn't survived the battle.  He was no longer undead; just dead.

She glared. 

In response, the tall man slouched visibly.  Her chiding was only a small fraction of that which he imposed on himself.  Sitting beside her, Angel took her hands in his as he sought her gaze.  "Buffy," he insisted, "I'm sorry... for your loss."

"Thanks for-"  Her throat caught as Spike's voice echoed in her head:  _"No, you don't.  But thanks for sayin' it."_  For the briefest instant, Buffy could see his tragic face.  She hadn't allowed herself time to think about those final moments or to consider his words.  The fragile young woman inside had experienced such a great sense of release telling Spike how she felt, telling him that she loved him, that she hadn't really processed his reply.

Now his words were sinking in:  _no, you don't._  Her chest ached.  _No, you don't._  Tears burned behind her eyes.  _No, you don't._

Shaking off her reflection, Buffy refused to succumb to her emotion, instead she refocused on the moment; the here, the now and the handsome strong man she loved.  She squeezed his hands and pursed her lips into a tight smile.  "Thanks."  As she returned her gaze to Angel, Buffy was greeted by his warm dark chocolate eyes.  

Through her soft sorrowful eyes, he could see her suffering; he wanted to be a comfort to her.  When a single tear slid down her cheek, without hesitation or thought he learned in and kissed it away.  Salty.  Sweet.  Buffy.

Though his lips barely grazed her cheek, Buffy's emotions shifted from sadness to yearning.  Her heart rate quickened.  Her breathing deepened.  She wanted so much to lose herself in his arms.

Keenly aware of her body's reaction and anticipating her next move with earnest, Angel skimmed one hand up to cup the side of her face as his lips traced along the opposite cheek.  Buffy's eyes fell closed.  Her lips parted slightly allowing her tongue to moisten them and were soon met by his cool full mouth.  She clung to him and he to her; passion crushing restraint.

***

"So, Mr. Giles?" Andrew began.  "What's the story with Buffy and Angel?"  

The older man quickly bit into his sandwich then awkwardly indicated he couldn't speak with his mouth full.

"Angel was the 'great love' of Buffy's life," Dawn interjected somewhat sarcastically as she dunked a French fry into her ketchup.  

"Oh?"  Andrew leaned in grinning with interest at what he expected would be a marvellous story.

"They shared one perfect moment of happiness."  She rolled her eyes.  "He lost his soul then went all evil and tried to kill us."

"Oh," Andrew said again, his disappointment clear in the change of his tone.  He paused as he considered what Dawn had relayed then inquired, "What do you mean?"

"Perfect happiness?" Dawn asked.

"No, 'went evil' and 'tried to kill us'," he clarified.

Giles interjected, "Angel's a vampire.  Without a soul, he's... quite different."

"A vampire?"  Andrew was intrigued.  "So Spike wasn't Buffy's first... 'special vampire'?"

Dawn laughed.  "Ah... no."

"Interesting..."  Andrew muttered as he pulled a pen from his jacket pocket and began to scribble notes on a napkin.  "So then what happened?"

***

The kiss deepened.  Buffy slid a delicate yet desperate hand under Angel's shirt feeling the coolness of his firm chest.  He moaned with pleasure at the scorching sensation of her touch.  Wantonly, his fingers skimmed down the neckline of her blouse, undoing buttons with ease before slipping beneath the fabric to cup the slight swell of her breast.  

Buffy began to squirm; an odd sensation came over Angel.  Then at virtually the same moment, they each released both hands and lips, drawing their bodies apart.  Before a word could pass between them, the phone rang.  

"I should... get that," Angel said with the corner of his mouth turned up into an uncomfortable half-smile.  "Excuse me a minute."

Buffy nodded as she fumbled to refasten her buttons.

"Hello?" 

"Angel.  Wes here," the caller stated, "Just ringing to see if Mr. Giles and the others have turned up."

"They've gone for lunch."  Angel paused then forwarded, "Buffy's here now."  He wasn't sure why he felt the need to tell Wesley, but somehow the words just spilled out.

"Ah.  I see," Wes acknowledged with an air of concern.  Or was it judgement?  "How is she?"

"Fine.  Well... we really haven't had much of a chance to talk, Angel explained.  "She just got here."

"Right then.  Would you mind terribly if I popped 'round to the hotel tomorrow?  P'rhaps Mr. Giles and I could meet there to discuss the new Slayer situation."

"That'd be fine," Angel replied.  

"Would you have Giles ring me at the office when he returns?" Wesley requested.

"Sure Wes.  Is there anything else?"

"No.  Will you and Buffy... Have you any plans?" the caller inquired awkwardly before hastily adding, "for this evening?"

"Not so far.  We really haven't discussed her plans at all.  But I'm sure she's tired after the strain of the past weeks."  He glanced to her and smiled compassionately.  "She'd probably appreciate a quiet night."

"Indeed," Wesley agreed.  "They'll be staying with you?  Buffy... and the others?"

"I assume."

Wes cleared his throat.  "Splendid.  I'll let you return... ah... to your guest."

 "See ya later."  

Angel placed the receiver back in its cradle then went back to Buffy.  "Can I get you a drink?  Something to eat?" 

Grateful for his offer and anxious to avoid discussing what had just transpired between them, Buffy replied, "I could use some water, thanks.  With some ice, maybe?"

Shyly, the vampire picked up his bloody mug from the counter where he'd left it and went back to the kitchenette.  He wasn't comfortable feeding in front of Buffy and that awareness made him think of Cordelia.  In the years they'd been friends, she'd never made him feel self-conscious about his need of blood.  And that's when he realized that the awkwardness he and Buffy had just experienced wasn't one sided.

When they were together during their brief but moving meeting in Sunnydale the week before, they were sharing in a bit of nostalgia, trying to recapture a time in their lives that now existed only in their memories.  Having Buffy in the place where he'd spent so much of the past couple of years with Cordelia, the presence of the brunette stood between them much the way Spike did when Angel had been in Sunnydale.

In the lobby, Buffy sat wondering what Angel's life was like here in L.A.  She'd really never been a part of it and was unsure if she even could.  Though "cookie dough" may have been a silly metaphor, she knew that what she'd said to Angel on their last meeting was true:  she needed time to find out who she was, who she would become.  She also realized that if they were to have a lasting future, she'd have to learn about his life too.  Getting up, she wandered to find him.  "It'll take time," she remarked from the doorway.

"What's that?" he asked distracted from his own thoughts.  

"It's going to take time.  For us.  Assuming you... want there to be an 'us'," she said noting that perhaps she'd been making assumptions about Angel's feelings.

Smiling and nodding reassuringly, Angel replied, "Buffy, I...   You're right:  we need time."

... Three:  REACTION


	3. Reaction

Three:  REACTION 

Late in the afternoon, Giles, Andrew and Dawn returned to the Hotel.  Angel had offered the group rooms which (for the time being) they'd accepted.  Giles had delayed making arrangements for his return to England until the last of the new Slayers were on their way home.  He also hoped to discuss the possibility of his former colleague Wesley Wyndham-Pryce joining him in rebuilding the Council.  As much as he appreciated Dawn's help, knowledge and enthusiasm in recent months, he doubted they would be able to do the job alone.  Having another formally trained Watcher who also had excellent real world experience would be a great asset.  

"Hello-o?" Dawn called once inside the apparently empty hotel lobby.

From behind the reception desk popped a tall, flamboyantly dressed green-skinned demon.  "Welcome to the Hyperion, darlin's!"  Strolling out into the main lobby, he waved two large hands in a flourish that could rival the stylings of Vanna White or any of the _Price-is-Right_ gals.  

"Dawn," Andrew spoke without moving his lips.  "Jaw."

Embarrassed, the young woman closed her mouth.

"Now Angel-cakes wanted me to tell you that he had important business at the office," the demon explained.  He raised the side of a hand to his cheek and lowered his voice.  "Really he just figured it would be easier for you if he were out.  Mr. Sensitivity," he chuckled.  "Isn't he just a big ol' sweetie?"

"Ah... yes.  Quite," Giles agreed politely.  

"The name's Lorne."  Approaching the group, the demon held out a hand.  "Consider me the Welcome Wagon.  Sea Breeze?"

From half-way down the stairs, Buffy interjected, "It's a little early in the day for me."  Just as Dawn was about to answer, Buffy continued, "...and too early in life for her."

In an attempt to save face, the younger woman reached for demon's offered hand.  "I'm Dawn.  You've met my sister," she said with a scowl then she motioned to her companions.  "This is Andrew, and Mr. Giles."

"Yes, um... Rupert Giles."  The man stepped forward extending his own hand.

"It's a pleasure, hon," the demon said giving the hand a firm shake.  "Will you be in L.A. long?"

"I've some business to attend to then we should be off."

"Yes, that reminds me:  Wes wanted you to give him a dingle when you got in."

"Certainly.  But first things first," Giles countered uneasily.  "Mr. ... ah... Lorne?  Would you mind showing the others to their quarters?  I should like to have a quick word with Buffy."

"Absolutely, sweet cheeks.  Right this way, ladies," Lorne directed bringing an odd delayed reaction of puzzlement to Andrew's face.

"And when you're ready, help yourself to the phone in the office," the friendly demon called back melodically as he glided up the stairs and disappeared with Dawn and Andrew.

Giles removed his glasses and pulled a cleaning cloth from his pocket.  

"Before you start, Giles, I know what I'm doing," Buffy insisted.  "I just spoke with my dad.  Angel's got amazing contacts..." she muttered off-handedly.  "Dawn and I will only be here until my dad's sub-letters move out of his condo then we'll move in there.  Besides, Angel and I aren't going to rush into anything."

"But you do intend to pursue a romantic relationship with him?"

***

Angel slipped quietly into the room.  

There was no sound except for the almost inaudible buzz of the monitors and drip of the IV.  

Angel pulled a chair from the corner of the room to sit beside the bed.  He smiled as he noticed her perfectly manicured finger tips; Lilah had promised that Cordelia would receive the best care possible and clearly no detail was being overlooked.

"Hey," he choked.  "Cordy... You're looking well..." He paused to give her a chance to reply.  

She didn't.

He took her hand.  Different from Buffy's, it was larger, paler and as he held it, he noticed it was cooler.  Now it seemed quite unlike Cordy's too.  Her heart-rate was slow and weak.  Her circulation was poor.  Angel wished he didn't have the awareness his vampire senses brought him.

"Cordy... I... I wanted to..."  He strained to organize his thoughts.  "I've missed you... missed having you in my life."  He paused as tears came to his eyes.  "I'm sorry about what happened between us.  Sorry I treated you the way I did... because of Connor."  Thinking of his son, saying his name aloud, renewed the pain Angel had felt over choosing to give the boy a new life.  "I know that wasn't really you.  I should have known that then..."

He scanned the room.  It looked so much like her room at the Hotel.  Fred must have brought some of her things over.  But were these things really Cordy's?  How much of what she'd been in the past year was Cordy and how much of her was influenced... controlled by Jasmine?

He squeezed her hand.  "I'm sorry I couldn't save you from all that."  His head lowered to rest on their entwined hands.  "I just couldn't see anything past my anger... my jealousy..."

He dropped her hand and leapt to his feet.  Pacing the room, he launched into a rant, "He was my son for God's sake!  My son!  And now I've lost him, and you, again and-"

The thought of Buffy returned to him and his anger dissipated.  "Cordy," he sat back at her side, once again taking her near-lifeless hand in his.  "I hope you know that I love you," he paused looking for some kind of reaction.

Nothing.  

"You treated me like a man... part of a family.  You accepted the vampire but didn't dwell there.  You helped me back from the edge more than once...  If only I could have helped you.  I..."  Looking at her peaceful face, Angel wished that she would awake so that he didn't have to carry the conversation alone.  He needed some witty retort from her or some acknowledgement that she knew how he felt and that she shared his feelings.

He couldn't think what more to say.  He didn't want to relive the what-ifs of the past.  He wanted a future.  

"Buffy's back."  

For a moment, he swore she'd twitched, but again there was nothing.

***

_He held her in his arms.  Her cheek pressed against his chest.  The subtle floral fragrance of her hair filled his senses.  The heat of her body radiated to his, warming his cool skin.  The quiet murmur she made as she breathed, warming his heart.  He was as close to heaven as he ever imagined he could be._

***

The mystery man was asleep when Judith Sanders did her rounds at the beginning of her shift.  His chart suggested he'd been asleep most of the few days he'd been in the hospital, brought in with nasty sunburn and severe dehydration.  The nurse replaced his IV bag, checked the output on his catheter and noted the decrease in redness and swelling on his back. 

He seemed to be recovering.  For the moment, he was resting comfortably, curled up cuddling a pillow to his chest.  As he slept, he seemed to smile.  

"There has to be a wife or a girlfriend somewhere," Judith said quietly.  Then, she smirked.  "Or a boyfriend, life-partner... whatever."

As she spoke, he began to stir.  Slowly at first; little twitches.  Then suddenly, his voice hoarse, he let out a pained cry.  His eyes fluttered.  His breathing was laboured and shallow.

Swiftly but cautiously, the nurse moved to his bedside.  "Shh... Take it easy."  Her voice was soft and comforting.  

He fought to pry open his dry stinging eyes.  Through his battered haze, he could see her:  filmy white blouse outlining her delicate form, golden skin aglow, hair pulled back loosely from her face...  But her face was a blank as if the light overexposed its image.  He squinted to try to focus.

Judith moved to the window.  

When she pulled open the drapes, he shrieked, "Bloody hell."  Instinctively, he recoiled beneath the sheets and threw up his hands to cover his eyes.  As he did so, his IV tubing tangled in the bedding which seemed to only amplify his agitation.

"Hey now!"   She rushed to grab his hand and block some of the light.  "Sorry about that.  Didn't think the sun would still bother you."  She patted his arm.  "It's OK.  You were really dehydrated when you were brought in; that's just giving you fluids.  You've got to leave it in for now."  

With her now hovering over him in the bright morning sun, the patient was able to focus and get his first good look at the woman.  Her silhouette seemed to have changed.  She was taller; her body fuller and skin fairer than it seemed before.  "Who're you?"  He had no inkling as to who she was and that confusion and disappointment caused his head to spin and his chest to ache.  "I..." he tried to speak.  "Where am I?"

"You're in the hospital," she replied comfortingly.  "In Santa Barbara.  My name's Judith; I'm a nurse."

Surprised, he attempted to process the information:  hospital, Santa Barbara, nurse, Judith.  His nurse.  

Judith pressed for information.  "Can I get your name?"

Name.  What was his name?  He tried to find an answer.  The strain of his efforts was clear on his face.

She smiled sympathetically.  "Do you remember anything?  Anything at all?"

"I... I'm not sure.  I get... flashes."  _A woman.__  Cinder blocks.  A cacophony of chatter.  Overwhelming joy.  Searing pain._  He winced and shifted to ease the sting at his back.  "Can't..."

"Well, you're not a native Californian," Judith deduced from his accent and cadence.  "Were you on vacation?"

He shook his head.  "I don't... don't think so." 

"Is there someone I can call for you?" the nurse inquired optimistically.  "Family?  A friend?"

He grew distant for a moment and gazed past the nurse to the glow from the window.  Closing his eyes, he thought he could almost see a familiar face.  Tightly he squeezed his lids, struggling to see the vision in his mind.  "I..."  But the image soon faded.  His head dropped shaking slightly.  "I dunno."

Patting his hand, Judith comforted, "It's OK.  It'll come.  Give it time."

Though his lips formed half a grin, his eyes were wide and sad.

"In the mean time, what would you like to be called?  We can't just keep calling you John Doe 03021," she added light-heartedly.

"John's fine," the patient replied downheartedly.

She gave his hand a squeeze.  "John, it is."

At her touch, "John" slowly closed his eyes and clutched her hand.  Soon he was asleep again, and the contented smile had returned to his face. 

... Four:  RESEARCH


	4. Research

Four:  RESEARCH 

Giles was reading the paper in the hotel lobby when Wesley arrived.  

"Ah Mr. Giles," greeted the younger Brit with an outstretched hand.  "It's nice to see you again."

"Shall we dispense with the formality, Wesley?" Giles suggested, accepting the hand and giving it a firm shake.

"Certainly... Rupert," the other man agreed as he motioned Giles to join him in the office.  "Hope you don't mind meeting here.  I rather needed a break from the office and thought this might be more relaxed."

"Ah yes.  Um... I gather you and Angel are now working for um... ah...a law firm?" Giles queried, not entirely comprehending Angel's explanation the previous evening.

Wesley cleared his throat and sheepishly replied, "Actually, we... ah... we run the firm."

"Oh?  But-"

"We're not lawyers?" Wes finished.  "No... It's ah... rather a long and complex story.  Can I get you a drink?" he offered, pulling a bottle of Scotch from the desk drawer, more out of his own need for a nip than for want to change the subject.  

"That'd be brilliant," replied Giles enthusiastically.  "It's been... quite a week."

"Indeed."

As he handed Giles a glass, Wes inquired, "I understand there's been a significant development as regards the Slayer line."

"Well yes.  As I mentioned, when we spoke yeste'day, Buffy and Faith are no longer the world's only Slayers."  Giles proceeded to recount the tale of the past year's events including the slaughter of Potentials by the First's Harbingers, others making their way to Sunnydale, the Council's virtual annihilation, Buffy's discovery of the scythe and the plan to release its power.

"It's quite... stunning," Wesley declared as Giles presented the Slayer's scythe.

"It's rather just a flashy weapon now."

Wesley sought clarification, "There's no power left in it?"

"Buffy and Faith both agreed they no longer sensed the strength from it they felt prior to the release spell."

"Int'resting."

"Now you see, we've got dozens... p'rhaps hundreds or more new Slayers 'round the world and very few people with any sort of formal training to educate them," Giles stated.  "I was rather hoping that I could count on you to help me in re-establishing some sort of Watchers' Council."

***

"John?" Judith called softly as she poked her head around the curtain of his section of the ward.  

"Eh?"  Her patient was not entirely accustomed to his name and the effects of his dehydration and injury still had him disoriented.  "'ello."

"John, this is a friend of mine:  Rick Garcia."  

The visitor smiled and nodded.  

"He's a detective with the Santa Barbara Police Department."

"Oh...  'm I in some kinda trouble?" John asked nervously.

"Oh, no Mr... ah... John," the man insisted.  "Judith told me about your situation.  I did some checking on our data base for missing persons fitting your description."

Hope sparkled in John's eyes.  "Got some news then?"

"Well, no," Garcia stated.

John's disappointment was clear, but Judith wanted her patient to stay positive, as that would give him the best chance for a speedy recovery from his physical injuries at least.  "John, Rick suggested running your fingerprints through their system."

"Oh that's bloody brilliant," he exclaimed sarcastically.  "We can find out I'm some sorta serial killer."

"Actually John, people get finger printed for lotsa different reasons," Garcia assured.  "The military, civil servants..."

"Healthcare workers, people that work with kids..." the nurse chimed in.

"A lot of employers insist on background checks now."

"Alright.  I get it."  John grimaced.  "Would you give us a minute?" he asked, nodding for Jude and the police officer to leave.  

"Sure."

John sat pondering his options.  He wanted to know who he was.  But did it really matter?  No one had reported him missing, so maybe nobody cared.  What did that say about the woman in his visions?   Besides, not all of the images in his head were pleasant.  Were they really memories?  He feared what a detailed police search might turn up.  Did he really want to take the risk of discovering he was wanted in twenty-three states?  Or by Interpol?  Maybe he should just look at this incident as a fresh start.

"Sod it."  He had to know.  On weakened legs, he struggled to the door clinging to his IV stand.  "Oi!  Let's do this."  He called down the hall.

***

"What exactly have we to work with?" Wesley inquired as he poured another round.  "Two experienced Slayers..."   

"We've Buffy.  But Faith's done a runner," Giles corrected.

"I'm sure if we can work out her legal issues," suggested Wes, "she'll have a hand in.  I'll have someone at the office look into it."  Under his breath he mumbled, "Surely someone there deals with legitimate legal cases."

"Right then.  Buffy and Faith.   And we brought eighteen new Slayers out of the Hellmouth," Giles noted.  "Obviously they have some first hand fighting experience, but few have any real knowledge of demons.  Our main focus was the First, the Harbingers and the Turok Han."

"Understandable given the circumstances," Wesley acknowledged.  "I gather most of the demon population fled the city right along with the human one?"

"It was eerie to be essentially the only life in the entire town.  On that final day, we were three dozen teenaged girls, two slayers, a witch, a few experienced... civilians... and... ah..." Giles pulled off his glasses and cleared his throat.  "Spike."

"Remarkable story, that," exclaimed Wesley.

The Watcher nodded proudly.  "It was a brilliant plan:  releasing the power of the Scythe to all the world's Potentials."

"Actually, I was speaking of Spike," Wesley clarified, eliciting a questioning face from his colleague.  "Oh I don't claim to know half the story, but the notion that a vampire would seek a soul out of... love?  And that ultimately that vampire would sacrifice himself..."

Giles sighed.  "I'm not sure anything'll ever surprise me again.  Certainly my Watcher's training didn't fully prepare me for my tenure with Buffy."  He set down his again empty glass.

Wesley reached for the glass.  "I rather doubt that either of us could have predicted the direction our careers- our lives would take after meeting that young woman."  He poured them each another splash then held up his glass.  "To Buffy?"

"To Buffy," Giles repeated with nodded.

They sat briefly sipping in reflective silence before Giles continued.  "There's... a lad who's been working with us.  He's got a strong foundation of demon knowledge.  He's been documenting the events of the past months and catalogued the personal information on the girls.  And Dawn, Buffy's sister, has truly come into her own," Giles declared proudly.  "She's excelled with demon and ancient language translation, and research.  She's got better than passable fighting techniques.  And she's keen."

"That's encouraging."

Frowning, the Watcher noted, "Except that she's still in high school and Buffy may not want her to give up her life to fight evil."

"I'd not fault her wanting more for her sister," remarked Wesley.  "So we'll leave Dawn for the moment.  Who else?"

"Willow's agreed to assume some sort of role in the new... establishment.  As you know, she's a powerful and knowledgeable witch."

"Quite," Wes agreed.  "Willow was instrumental in... ah... our situation this past spring."

"I've yet to understand what you lot hoped to accomplish by unleashing Angelus upon the world," grumbled Giles.

"We needed him," Wesley insisted.  "Before... the Beast captured her, Cordelia had a vision of it with Angelus... in the past.  They were allies of sorts.  We had rather hoped that Angelus could help us in defeating the Beast and rescuing Cordelia."

"Help you?" barked Giles.  "That monster?!"

"Obviously we weren't naïve enough to expect Angelus to actively fight with us.  We only hoped to get some sort of... insight into the Beast's weaknesses."

Unconvinced, Giles sat back crossed arms and huffed indignantly.

"We had some success," the younger man defended.   "Unfortunately not before the Beast drained Cordelia's... essence.  Frankly, we're not certain what exactly happened.  When we found her, she was in a coma, suffering severe blood-loss from abdominal trauma."  

"That poor girl," exclaimed Giles.  "But you must have realized that it was bloody stupid to risk countless lives on the chance- the chance that Angelus would be of any help!"

"And how many times have you and Buffy and that lot risked lives on chance?" Wesley countered.  "What about this last time?  Opening the Hellmouth; releasing the Slayer power.  You couldn't possibly have known-"

"Point taken," Giles interrupted solemnly.  "And now that chance has created a new dilemma:  we've all these newly-called Slayers 'round the world and very few people with any experience or even knowledge of what that means."

Wes turned to the computer.  "We've some remarkable... resources at Wolfram and Hart.  I'll start a search, see how many field Watchers we can track down.  Surely they can't all have been... killed."  He struck some keys after a momentarily awkward pause.  "Even if all the active members of the Council were murdered, there must be... retirees?"

"And surely you and I can't have been the only Watchers to ever be tossed out on our arses," joked Giles optimistically.

... Five:  RELEASE


	5. Release

Five:  RELEASE 

Buffy and Angel returned late from a night out.  They'd been to a movie then gone for a decaf mocha latte.  Together as they strolled back to the Hyperion hand in hand, Buffy beamed happily.  Moonlight and the scent of jasmine filled the air as the pair wandered into the courtyard behind the Hotel.  Pausing at the wishing well, they gazed lovingly... longingly into each others eyes.  

"Did you have a good time tonight?" Angel inquired.

Buffy smiled reflectively.  "I did."

"Suppose we should go in?"

"Yeah... I'm pretty tired," Buffy replied.  

But neither of them made any effort to go inside.  Instead they drew closer:  Angel, wrapping his strong arms around Buffy's petite figure; Buffy, sliding her palms up his broad chest.  Cool smooth lips meeting hot glossy ones.  He pulled back an arm to run a hand across Buffy's shoulder blade then up to comb through her hair.  She sighed in response, relaxing her head back into his hand.  The kiss intensified; the sensations heightened.  Before long Buffy was clutching the lapels of Angel's jacket while the swell of his trousers pressed against her abdomen.

In a gasp for breath, Buffy pulled away, "Angel!"

His mouth freed from her lips, the vampire buried his head at the base of her silken throat.  The hum of her blood called to him; the heat of her body made the demon inside scream for more.  His grip tightened.  Kisses became hungrier.  Flecks of gold sparkled in the chocolate pools of his eyes as a low growl surged from deep in his chest.

Buffy startled, thrusting him to arms length; the spell was broken.  "We really should head in now."   She took his hand and led him to the door.  

Inside, both went to speak.

"Buffy, I've got work-"

"I'm going up-"

The two chuckled softly then Angel pressed one last gentle cool kiss to Buffy's soft lips.  "Sleep well."

"See you in the morning?"

Angel nodded then headed back out the door while Buffy took to the stairs.

When she reached for the door to her room, a shrill voice scolded from behind, "So that's it?!  You've forgotten all about Spike?!"

Turning Buffy asked, "Dawn, where's this coming from?"  Her tone expressed her frustration.

"He died, Buffy!  And you never shed a tear," her sister growled.  "You're too busy swooning over your true love to give any thought to the guy who died for you!"  The younger woman's eyes swelled with angry tears.

The Slayer's jaw clenched as she grabbed her doorknob, forcing open the door.  "Dawn.  Please."  She motioned for her sister to enter her suite then followed in after her.

Buffy offered her sister a seat but Dawn just stood defiantly with her arms crossed.  Defeated, she dropped onto the edge of the bed.  "Dawn-" she began but was abruptly silenced.

"He's hardly been gone two weeks!  But here you are traipsing around with Angel as if Spike never meant anything to you.  Are you really that heartless?"

Buffy's pulse was racing; chest aching; head throbbing.  She felt as though she couldn't breathe.  "You don't know..." she choked out.  "You don't know how hard it's been for me... without him."  She pulled her palms to wipe the tears from her eyes then dropped her head tangling her fingers in her hair.  "I can't be alone without thinking about him."  She looked up at her sister whose stance had softened considerably.  "Dawn..." she said weakly.  "I loved him."

"Oh God, Buffy..."  Dawn sat on the bed taking the weeping woman in her arms.  "I know.  I know you loved him."

Buffy pulled back and looked squarely at her sister.  "But did he?" she asked doubtfully, with pleading eyes.

***

_Though the world was crashing down around them, all seemed to grow suddenly still.  Quiet.  The reflection of the sun's glow burst from him lending a warm golden tone to her skin.  _

_Her wide eyes glistened with tears.  "I love you."_

***

"There's no medical reason to keep him here any longer," the doctor insisted.  

Nurse Judith countered, "But he doesn't know who he is."

"That's a Psych problem," he said callously.  "They're calling it 'Dissociative Fugue' and agree he doesn't need to be taking up a bed."

"He's got nowhere to go," Judith argued.

"I'm discharging him," stated the doctor, signing off the paperwork.  "See if Social Services can find him a place to stay."

Going to John's room, Judith found the man staring out the window, his hand against the glass and the morning sun washing across his face.

"John," she called softly to get his attention.  "You're up early." 

"Mornin' Jude."  Her patient continued to gaze out the window.  "You've got news."  Somehow he knew.  

"Well, today's the day," the nurse announced plainly.  She couldn't sound cheerful and tell him he was going home; he had no home that they could find.

He glanced over his shoulder in Judith's general direction.  "Figured," he acknowledged, with a single brief nod before returning his stare to something in the distance beyond the window.

The nurse shifted her weight from one foot to the other.  She glanced around the room as if something on the walls or ceiling might have the answer to all life's questions.  "Come with me," Judith coaxed with a sly gleam in her eyes before turning to the door.  

John followed her to the elevator then off again on a lower level.   "Jude?" he began, "not quite sure what you've got in mind, but I..."

She grabbed his hand and grinned.  "Come on."  

As Judith pushed open the door to the subbasement, John hesitated:  something felt wrong.  When she pulled him through the opening and he started down the stairs, apprehension was overshadowed by terror.  With each step, the feeling swelled within him.  Shivers ran up his back.  His breathing became shallow and laboured.  His mind burst with images of fire, and screeching, and crowds of people.  He got dizzy, paled then stumbled on the across the landing knocking into the wall.  

"Geez John," Judith cried as she steadied him.  With the firmness of a seasoned professional, she helped him settle on the step with his head between his knees.  "Take some deep breaths."  She began to gently rub his back, but he flinched away.  Still her instinct was to comfort him, so she just held her hand over him, brushing softly in the air.  "Shh... take it easy."

On the stairs, his audible breaths turned to sobs and he fisted clumps of hair in his hands.  "I don't... don't understand."  He pulled his fingers down the side of his head to press tightly at his tense shoulders then he looked at her with tearful wide eyes.  "I don't understand why I can remember the lyrics to all the Sex Pistols songs, or that Manchester United has won fifteen National Championships, or that I like chicken wings and deep fried onion thingies, but I don't know who the bloody hell I am!"  He gulped for breath.  "I can even quote soddin' Shakespeare," he exclaimed hysterically, placing a hand to his chest and outstretching his other arm.  "'My heart expands - 'tis grown a bulge in it - inspired by your beauty effulgent', but I-"

"Ah... John?" the nurse interrupted hesitantly.  "I don't think that's Shakespeare."

He dropped his hands and turned back to face her, having quickly sobered and looking quite baffled.  "Oh?" 

Judith bit her lip to suppress a giggle at his expression.  "No," she replied with a sympathetic smile.

Both turned to look back down at the floor.  They sat quietly for several minutes as John regained his composure and his balance.  He lifted his head and ran his fingers through his hair.  He rolled his shoulders and gave himself a shake.  "Sorry Jude." 

"Oh hey..."  She just shook her head knowing he wasn't ready to leave the hospital, feeling powerless to help him.  "Are you feeling... better now?"  She gave little time for him to respond before firing another question, "Can you walk?"

He gulped hard and pulled himself to standing.  "Sure, pet."  

They continued slowly down the half flight of stairs.  At the bottom, the nurse pushed the heavy fire door open and lead John out into the corridor.  In the hall, he breathed a little easier until they stopped in front of a storage room door.  Looking up to her face, John caught her coy grin, but looking back at the door, he felt a sense of foreboding.  

Judith opened the door to a storage room and flicked on the light.  "Get in there," she playfully ordered.

He didn't budge.  He couldn't.  Part of him was paralysed by flashes of the past, part by fear of the future.  

Meeting his concerned face, she smiled comfortingly. "John."  As she slid an arm behind his back, Judith huffed a disappointed chuckle and explained, "I just thought you could use some new clothes."

He cocked his head and raised a questioning brow.

"Well, not new exactly," the woman corrected.  She gave him a shove. "Just go have a look.  Maybe you can find something you like."  Smirking at his attire, Judith added, "Or were you planning on spending the rest of your life in hospital jammies?"

"Got a point there," John conceded.  "So, where'd this lot come from?" he asked as he scanned the racks of garments.  

"You probably don't want to know," she replied grimly.  "But we keep some stuff around for... people in situations kinda like yours.  Take what you'd like."  As John began to rummage, Judith inquired, "Have you given any thought to where you'll stay?"

***

Dawn awoke with dry sore eyes in her sister's bed; Buffy, exhausted, was still asleep beside her.

What began the night before as a crushing tirade against Buffy had transformed into catharsis for Dawn.  For more than a year, the younger sister had internalized her hostility toward Spike for his attempted sexual assault on Buffy.  For longer still, Dawn had been angry with him for abandoning their friendship and jealous of Buffy for the time she'd spent with him.  And in the days since he died, she'd lived with the burden of never having told him how she felt or having tried to rebuild their relationship.  Through the darkest hours, the two young women had poured out their hearts:  weeping, laughing and comforting each other.  They reflected on their fondest and worst memories of a man they had both loved.  They shared their deepest regrets over what they'd done and said to him in the past years --- and of what they had failed to do and say.  And they mourned their loss of him.

After drawing the drapes left open the previous day and carefully laying a blanket over her sister, the younger Summers quietly slipped from the room.

"Dawn," Angel greeted awkwardly.  He'd been on his way to see Buffy before turning in for the day and wasn't prepared for a run-in with her sister.  "How are you this morning?"

She scowled at him holding a finger to her lips to insist on quiet before motioning him to follow her down the hall.  Once at what she considered a safe distance, the young woman's expression softened.  "Buffy's still asleep," she explained.  "We had a rough night."

Looking toward his love's door, Angel wanted to go to her but asked, "Is she... Is everything alright?"  

"Look, I know everything's going great between you two," Dawn began with a sneer and an eye roll, "but she's hurting --- over Spike."

Angel's face dropped.

"He was an important part of our lives.  And for Buffy..."  The young woman wasn't sure what more to say.  "Please... for now, just let her sleep."

***

"Hey," called one of the school bullies.  "I thought I told you before:  this is our turf."  The group stood blocking the sidewalk, taunting and jeering a pair of younger girls.  

"I told ya we shoulda gone the other way," mumbled Emily, a chubby pre-teen.

Her gangly friend, Taylor stood her ground.  "We're not gonna let them push us around anymore."  Boldly, she growled back, "Back off.  We're goin' this way."

"You hear that, Courtney?  They wannus to let'em through."  The tough girl got up into Taylor's face.  "Make me."

Taylor gave the other girl a shove and was swiftly met with a punch in the face.  

"Don't you dare!" shrieked Emily as she ploughed forward to help her friend.  The previously shy quiet girl grabbed her friend's attacker by the arm.  In one swift movement with a pop and a crack, she twisted the arm behind the girl's back then tossed her several yards away.  The other girls just stood and stared as Emily offered her friend a hand up and the two walked proudly down the sidewalk.

... Six:  RELOCATION


	6. Relocation

Six:  RELOCATION 

"You sure you want to do this?" Angel asked.

Buffy nodded.  "I'm sure.  You know things have been getting... kind of... hard."  She met his warm gaze.  "Being so close to you all the time..."

He leaned in to her.  "Yeah..."  He cleared his throat impulsively.  "Hard..."

Her tone was soft and breathy.  "And I don't want you to feel..."  

Her mouth was so close to his he could feel the bursts of warm breath against his lips.  

She swallowed the lump building in her throat.  "...awkward."

As their lips met, the pounding of Buffy's heart was suddenly drowned out by pounding on the window.  

"I suppose you get the bigger bedroom, right?" Dawn grumbled from the sidewalk, duffle bag in hand.

"You should go get settled," suggested Angel.

"Yeah," Buffy sighed.  With a quick peck, she was out of the car and grabbing her bag from the backseat.  "I'll call you later.  Thanks for the ride."  A small wave from the lobby door to her father's condominium complex then Buffy disappeared inside with her sister.

***

After several depressing nights in a homeless shelter, with Judith's help, John found a job as a night parking lot attendant and a place to live.  Even before John left the hospital, Judith checked around to find somewhere for him to stay.  The search wasn't easy since most people she knew weren't comfortable opening their homes to a total stranger and (she'd concluded) John had a strong aversion to basements.  Somehow, she managed:  a co-worker who was moving in with his girlfriend was looking for someone willing to run errands and do yard-work, to take over his place at his grandparents' home.

The elderly couple lived in a quaint house in the "nice" older neighbourhood in which they'd lived almost half their lives.  Around the back of the house, in the converted attic space over their garage was a cozy "suite".  John had a bathroom with a shower, a tiny kitchenette and a living space fitted with hide-away bed, a table and a couple of chairs.  The homeowners were quiet and friendly without being overly so, and they appreciated having a younger man around the place to help out.  And the landlady loved to have someone else for whom to cook and bake, so John was soon a regular at Sunday dinner.

Work wasn't terribly exciting, and though John was comforted by the quiet nightfall seemed to bring, he thrilled at the occasional incident.  Vandals to chase off.  Would-be squatters and thieves to move along.  Prostitutes and Johns.  Drug dealers.

One night while patrolling the lot, John caught sight of a couple of teenagers making out in the shadows.  Initially, he chuckled and mentally wished them luck as he continued his rounds --- he'd ensure they'd gone when he finished his tour.  But as he sauntered away, a strange feeling struck him.  He couldn't pin point it, but knew something wasn't right, so he crept back. 

Just as he was about to call out, another figure flew upon the pair shoving the larger one away.  Instantly, the smaller two were hunched and circling each other with a fluid elegance.

 "Cat fight."  John grinned until the new arrival stepped briefly into the lamplight.  In that instant, John caught a bright glimpse of long golden hair.

_He glided one hand over the side of her head twisting a lock of her hair through his fingers.  Soft.  Silken.  "You know, I still love this hair."_

Startled by the flash, he shook himself.  "What the-?!"  

As he refocused on the scene before him, John noted that one of the women was gone and the other was kneeling over the guy who was propped up against the building.  Walking toward the two, he turned on his flashlight.  "Hey there," he called out.  "Everything alright?"

"Yeah," said the girl, holding up a hand and squinting in the directed light.  She was much younger than John had imagined and though he didn't recognize her, there was something oddly familiar about the girl, or the situation, or... something.

"This your... brother?" he asked.

The guy looked dazed but the girl was completely straight-faced when she replied, "Yeah.  Mom wanted me to find him."  She dragged the guy to his feet and headed toward the parking lot gate.  

John followed suspiciously behind.  As he secured the gate, John stood watching the pair as they wandered down the street.  They stopped for a brief word at the corner before the girl waved off the young man and disappeared again into the darkness.

***

On his way back from the library and copy shop, Andrew stumbled across the cobblestone street.  Though he'd been following the same routine on that same street for weeks, the young man still hadn't become accustomed to the uneven roadway.  "Why can't English people do stuff more like Americans?" he grumbled as he gathered up his books and bundles of papers.  His last errand before returning to the small suite of offices on the ground floor of the row house in which he lived was to pick up milk for Giles' tea --- at least he'd not been carrying the bottle when he took today's tumble.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Roberts," Andrew greeted as he went habitually to the dairy case.  

"'ow are you today, luv?" asked the bespectacled woman who was stocking shelves near the shop entrance.  "And your dashing Mr. Giles?"

"Fine thanks," he replied digging in his pocket for the change to pay for the milk.  His errands complete, the keen young man hurried back to the house.  

He set the books and papers down on the kitchen table, poured a bit of milk in Giles' cup and set the kettle to boil.  As he waited, ever the efficient worker, he grabbed a pop for himself from the fridge and set out some biscuits.  When the tea was ready, as had become habit over in recent weeks, Andrew carried a tray down the hall and popped his head into his boss' office.  "Mr. Giles?"   

"Andrew, do come in.  I was just bringing Willow up to speed on what we've established."

"Willow," Andrew greeted with squinty eyes as he set the tray on the Englishman's desk.  "Nice to see you again.  Did you enjoy your holiday in the Hamptons?"   He spoke very formally, suggesting he was less than sincere, in reaction to his demotion in the line of command with Willow returning to the fold.

"Yeah, it was great.  I hear you've been really busy," Willow encouraged.  "What can you tell me?"

"Just a minute," Andrew replied gleefully before darting down the hall to his office.  He soon returned proudly hauling his large world map affixed to a display board on wheels.  "Each of the red push-pins represents significant vampire activity.  The green ones are other demon groups.  These large clusters," he noted with his laser pointer, "are identified hellmouths." 

"There's more than one?"  Willow grimaced.

"We've been aware of others for years," explained Giles while reaching for a biscuit.  "But having previously only one Slayer and as --- aside from Cleveland and... ah... Sunnydale, of course --- the hellmouths are in largely unpopulated areas, we've concentrated efforts elsewhere."

Looking anxious, the younger man cleared his throat.

"Ah yes... Andrew, do continue."  Giles waved him on as he sipped his tea.

"The white pins are Slayers --- new ones.  These," he said indicating white pins with happy face stickers on top, "are the Slayers that survived Sunnydale."

"What's that one with the gold star?" Willow inquired.

"Oh, well, that's Buffy."

"O-K...," Willow said, trying to suppress her amusement.  "So what's the plan Giles?"

"Well, I realize it's rather outside your area of expertise," the Brit prefaced, "and I'm sure you're eager to get back to the Coven, but I wondered if you could help with recruitment... for new Watchers."

"Alright..." Willow agreed with a complete lack of enthusiasm. 

Giles smiled.  "Splendid.  And you'll be available to assist with the selection and acquisition of volumes for the new library?  It may involve some inter-dimensional travel..."

"That sounds great!" the witch squealed.  

Giles breathed a sigh of relief.  "I'm glad.  I truly need your help, Willow."

"Count me in."

... Seven:  RELAY


	7. Relay

Seven:  RELAY 

"Mr. Giles," Andrew chirped as he wandered into the man's office, "Mail's here."

"Anything int'resting today, Andrew?"  

"Bills mostly."  The young man frowned then with a sly grin and a gleam in his eyes, he pulled an envelope from behind his back.  "But there's an express package from Wolfram and Hart," he exclaimed eagerly.

Giles raised a brow to his assistant and motioned with his hand for the large envelope.  

Andrew suggested, "But I could review-"

"Andrew."  Sternly, his superior waved again for the package.

Grumbling almost inaudibly his disappointment, the Brit's young assistant dropped the package on the desk.  

Curiously, Giles opened the envelope and quickly scanned the cover letter.  Within moments, concern and discouragement were written all over his face.  "Could you please ask Willow to join me?" he asked, barely looking up from the paper.  

"Sure."  Andrew toddled down the hall to Willow's office.  "Hey, um... Mr. Giles got some bad news and wants to share it with you?"

"Oh?" Willow looked up from where she sat cross-legged on the floor with a spell book in her lap.  "How bad is it?"

"Bad enough he doesn't want to tell me about it," Andrew muttered as he turned to go to the kitchen to make tea and grab a clean glass with ice, should his boss need a scotch.

"Giles?  Andrew said you wanted something."

"Yes Willow.  Do come in," he invited, gesturing for her to close the door.  "I've just received some news from Wesley regarding some... issues he's been researching."  

"What is it?" Willow asked nervously.  "Andrew made it sound serious."

Giles huffed and rolled his eyes.  "Yes, well... the lad has a tendency to over-dramatize things on occasion."

Of the statement, Willow relaxed into her chair

"But I'm afraid this isn't one such time."  Giles sighed heavily as he began to flip through the packet of papers he'd received.  "It would appear that there's a new danger in California."

"Another actor running for office?" Willow joked.

The man simply scowled humourlessly. 

"Sorry.  What is it this time?" the witch inquired.

"The Beast of Amalfi:  a harbinger of death, six-eyes, razor teeth and whatnot," Giles rattled off.  "Evidently this was a prophesied event.  Damn!" He cursed in frustration, pounding his fists on the desk.  "If only we had more resources.  We wouldn't have to depend on others.  We should have our own blasted books!"

Discouraged, Willow whined, "I'm doing the best I can to track down and negotiate for the key texts, Giles."

"Yes dear.  I know you are.  We're all doing the best we can.  It's just..."  He paused a moment then returned the discussion to the report.  "We'll need to gather some of the more experienced new Slayers.  Send them to Reseda.  It should be quite a test for the girls."  

"I kinda get the impression you're not all that concerned about this fight," Willow stated, her forehead crinkled with perplexity.

"No," Giles conceded.  "Wesley's report suggests destroying the Beast should be straightforward.  Basic slaying, just on a larger scale than a typical demon.  The real difficulty- or rather, potential difficulty, is in regards to the Slayers themselves."  The man removed his glasses, dug in his pocket for a handkerchief and began to clean the lenses.  "You recall that prior to the release spell, both Buffy and Faith got a strong sense of power-- of connection to the scythe, but in the days after, it was just like any other weapon?"

"Yeah..."  Willow was uneasy about where this explanation was leading.

"Wesley's had his 'people' researching the weapon and speculating on the effects, and they believe that when you-" He stopped abruptly not wanting the witch to feel responsible, "when the power was released, the source was depleted."

"I don't think I'm following, Giles."

"You see Willow, although these women are young, it's only a matter of time before they... die," the man explained.  "Accidents.  In the line of duty.  Old age.  The seers at Wolfram & Hart suppose that only a small fraction of the current Slayers will be succeeded.  The girls that died in Sunnydale... The girls we know 'ave been killed since, they'll never be replaced.  When the Harbingers were hunting down Potentials, they eliminated untold numbers.  Not only existing Potentials, but the would-be parents of ones not yet conceived."  He was quite irate:  veins bulging at his temples.  "Entire generations of Slayers may have been wiped out.  Surely the Coven's seers would agree."

"What's the big deal?  The Slayers have the power now," Willow declared.  "We've counted almost five hundred Slayers and met with almost half of them.  But there could be more.  Buffy was holding her own when she was the only One."

"Well, yes.  But..."

***

Outside a neighbourhood convenience store a group of teens dressed in designer jeans and leather jackets stood scheming.  "Look, I told you:  if you're gonna be part of our group, you've gotta do some dares," said an attractive tall brunette.  "Your first one is to go into that store and steal a bottle of booze."

Nervously, one of the pledges asked, "What kind?"

The others laughed.  "It doesn't really matter," the leader explained.  "We're not picky.  Get whatever you want."

Then another girl warned, "If you get caught, you better not tell 'em about us."

"You'll be fine," the tall girl encouraged.  "You won't get caught."

Minutes later, the young 'wanna-be' was on her way into the shop, slipping in quietly behind an elderly woman with a large woollen coat.  Unnoticed, she went straight to the alcohol, grabbed a couple of amber bottles and slipped them under her jacket.  On her way back to the entrance, she peeked around the corner to ensure the clerk was occupied then dashed for the door.  

Unfortunately for her, another customer was on his way in.  "Watch where you're goin'," John exclaimed.  

The impact and surprise of the encounter caused the girl to drop one of the bottles which shattered against the concrete just outside the store.  

"Bloody hell!"  The man stumbled back to avoid the glass and liquor.

"Hey!" called the clerk.  "Stop her!"

John snagged the thief's jacket then clutched her hand.  

_He was on the ground then she was on top of him.  As pain shot through him from his side, he groaned.  _

_"Are you OK?"_

_He tried to be brave, to be strong.  "I'm fine.  Couple o' ribs ain't quite set right since... I'm fine."_

_Then her hands were on him.  Hot:  her skin against his.  "Lemme see."_

_"No, it's just-"_

_"Spike."___

_He grabbed her tiny hand to stop her touching him..._

***

Doubling back to meet her new friends, the girl handed over the bottle.

"Holy shit!" one of the teens shrieked.  "You're fast."

Another girl added, "That was way cool."'

"Yeah," the thief agreed, "it kinda was."

"How did you get away?" yet another asked excitedly.  "I thought you were toast for sure!"

"I dunno.  Guess that guy was kinda wacked out," she explained.

"Whoa... were you scared?"

***

"Ah Faith," Wesley greeted after he picked up the phone.  "Thank you so much for getting in touch with me."

"Yeah," the Slayer replied.  "I hear you got some sorta deal arranged for me."

"Indeed I have, Faith.  I've had one of our best criminal law teams working on your behalf and we've arranged for your parole," he exclaimed proudly.

"Huh?"

The man continued, "What this means is that you're free to resume your duties as Slayer."

"Whoopie.  Now there's a deal," replied Faith, sarcasm oozing.  "Hey, look.  I dunno what you think I been doing, but I ain't been on vacation.  I been kickin' demon ass, same as before I got stuck in the joint."

"I'm sure that's true, Faith," Wesley agreed, "but you don't have to run anymore.  Mr. Giles has offered a post for you at the Council's Headquarters.  Or, if you're up for another go at a hellmouth, I'm sure a place could be found for you in Cleveland.  Or p'rhaps you'd like to go abroad?  They've a number of regions that could use your skill and experience.  I'm sure Mr. Giles would be quite accommodating, whatever you decide."

"No shit?"  Faith huffed with both surprise and relief.  Maybe some part of her even felt... pleased?  Cared for?  Respected?  "Cool.  So what do I gotta do?"

"Well, you'll have to appear before a judge here in Los Angeles, but my people have assured me that that's just a formality," Wes assured.  "After that, you should probably get in touch with Mr. Giles to discuss the specifics of his requirements and your interests."

"Yeah.  Um... I'll do that."  After a moment of silent reflection, Faith managed a, "Wes... thanks," before hanging up the phone.

Immediately, Wesley's phone rang again.  "Was there something-"

"Mr. Pryce.  I'm afraid I've got some bad news."

***

"Angel?"  Fred knocked at the door before gently pushing it open and peaking inside.  

The vampire was in bed.  "Fred?" he rubbed his eyes.  "What is it?"

Her eyes were red and tears streaked her cheeks.  She swallowed hard, trying to speak.

Angel knew:  "Cordy."

Fred nodded as she blinked back fresh forming tears.  "She... she died... about half an hour ago."

Angel rose and went to take his fragile friend in his arms.  

With her forehead pressed against his chest, she continued, "They don't think she suffered.  She just... never woke up."

... Eight:  RECIPROCITY


	8. Reciprocity

Eight:  RECIPROCITY 

Through the small African town, the rumble of a jeep could be heard over the squeals of playing children and the enthusiastic bartering of the market goers.  Curious villagers followed the dusty vehicle at a safe distance to where it stopped in front of a tiny hut.  With concern, they looked on as a pair of tall lean men with dark glasses, dressed in military-style khaki cargo pants and short sleeved button down shirts approached the dwelling's entrance.  

"That your daughter?" one asked in Arabic of the woman inside, directing her attention to the young girl weaving a basket at the side of the shack.

"Yes, that is my daughter," she replied with some trepidation.  "Why do you ask?"

"She is a special child," the other explained.  "With our help, she will do great things."

***

"Angel?" called Buffy quietly as she knocked on his door.  No one had seen him since Fred left his room earlier in the week after she'd cried in his arms over Cordelia's death.  When he didn't respond, she tried the door:  not locked.  As she nudged the door open, it creaked but the room was otherwise silent.  The Slayer, sensing no vampire presence, stepped inside.  Maybe she could find some clues as to Angel's whereabouts.

The bed was neatly made; the room tidy except for a loose stack of papers and things scattered in one corner on the floor.  With only a brief hesitation to scan the room, Buffy crossed to the pile.  On the top was a sketch book with drawing of Cordelia.  Though the image was nothing more than graphite on heavy bond paper, the woman appeared to glow:  sparkling eyes, bright wide smile, radiant skin and hair.  Clearly the sketch had been created with great care.  Slowly, Buffy lowered herself to kneel on the floor and began to sift through the images:  bits and pieces of Angel's life, parts of which she still knew very little.  There were photos, notes, and ticket stubs, but it was the sketchbook that most intrigued Buffy, for she knew Angel had drawn the pictures within it.  Pictures of his friends... what she presumed were some of his foes... and-

"Oh God!"  

A sketch of Spike.  The image wasn't that of the fragile soul who loved her, who'd given her strength when she had no will to go on.  No.  This wasn't the Spike she wanted to remember but, she supposed, it was Spike as Angel thought of him after he'd been in Sunnydale that last night:  the night Buffy sent Angel back to Los Angeles; the night before her last in Spike's arms - before she left him to die; before he left her to live.  Buffy closed her eyes and sucked in one long deep breath willing herself not to cry.

"Buffy."

She started, clutching the book to her chest.  "Angel, I-"  Looking in the direction of the sound of his voice, she was going to make excuses but when she saw his face, all thoughts of explaining were gone.  

The tall dark figure stood hunched in the doorway and though she'd seen him glum before, something was different now.  

"What is it?" she asked with concern as she dropped the book and went to him.  Putting an arm around his back, she coaxed him inside and closed the door.  "Angel?" 

"Buffy, there's a lot about my life you don't know," he grumbled, not fully prepared for company.

With a glance to his mementos, Buffy muttered under her breath, "Kinda got that."  Turning back to Angel, she asked, "Where have you been?"

"Out."

Buffy sighed her annoyance.  "Fred was looking for you earlier.  She thought you might want... to have some say in Cordelia's... final arrangements."

"Would you please just leave me alone?!" the vampire barked.

"No.  I won't!  Why won't you talk to me?" Buffy pleaded.  "You lost a friend.  You're grieving."

"A friend?" scoffed Angel.  "You think that's all I've lost?!"

"I don't know!  I don't know anything about you!  Tell me!"

"I've had a life, Buffy," Angel cried.  "I haven't been sitting around brooding over you the past four years."  Then he mumbled, "well, not the whole time at least."  

"I understand that.  I want to understand you," insisted Buffy.  "If I got nothing more from Spike-"

Furious, Angel roared, "Don't bring him into this!"

But Buffy wasn't backing down.  She needed to know more.  "If nothing else, I learned that you shouldn't wait until it's too late to tell people how you feel.  That you don't have to be afraid...  Angel, please, I want to help you... if I can.  I want to know you; to know about your life."  She dropped to the edge of the bed in frustration.  "How can we build a life together if we don't talk?"

After what seemed like a long moment of silence between them, Angel blurted, "I had a son."

"You mean a 'childe'," she clarified.

"No Buffy.  No."  Angel crossed the room, reached down and grabbed his sketch book.  "I had a son.  Flesh and blood."  Without even looking, he flipped open the book and handed it to Buffy.  "This is him:  Connor."

Buffy looked at the sketch of an angry young man.  His face was one Buffy was sure she'd never before seen but still it seemed familiar.  He was Angel's son and that fact was clear in the boy's resemblance to his father.

"I don't understand," exclaimed the young woman still staring at the paper.  "You had a son?"  She paused and looked to Angel for answers.  "What got you thinking about him?  I mean, it must be a couple hundred-"

"I just came from seeing him."  

"Whoa... now you've really lost me."  Buffy was stunned.  "Is he a vampire?"

Angel shook his head.  "He grew up in a hell dimension.  He was born... here... not even two years ago."  He stared off into the darkness and marvelled, "God... that's hard to believe."

"You mean..."  Buffy didn't want to believe what she was thinking in that instant.  "You and Cord-"

"No," he replied quickly.  "Our... ah... We were never... I think we both wanted..."  He turned his gaze to the floor as his memories surfaced.  "Connor... was Darla's."

"What?  But you-"

Quickly, he cut her off.  "I'm a vampire?  I killed her?"  Angel was clearly agitated.  "Yeah.  Well... She came back."

A look laden with hurt and disbelief swept over Buffy's face.

"I didn't... love her," Angel noted.  "I never really loved her.  I was... in a really dark place and I..."

"Wanted to feel something?" Buffy interjected as she stared into her own past.  Then facing him with an empathetic look in her eyes, she corrected, "Needed to."

"Yeah..."  He smiled sadly as he sat down beside her.  They returned their focus to the floor and sat in silence, lost in reflection and regret.  "Connor was such a miracle."

"What happened to him?" she asked sympathetically, before her tone shifted to something closer to irritation, "And... why am I just hearing about him now?"

"This probably isn't the first you've heard of him.  You just..."  He sighed.  "...don't remember."

"Oh I'm sure that if I'd heard you have a son with Darla _I_'d remember."

"No, you wouldn't.  Nobody does.  No one but me," he said bitterly with the full awareness that Connor wasn't the only secret he bore alone.  Then he turned to Buffy with sorrow drowning his otherwise handsome face.  "That's part of the problem:  I'm the only one who remembers.  I have no one to talk to about this because I'm the only one who remembers that part of my life."  He looked deeply into Buffy's eyes, pleading with her to remember the joyful and tragic day they'd spent together years earlier:  the one day in 250 years he'd been human.  The day he kissed her in bright sunshine just off the pier; the day they'd made love and eaten icecream like they hadn't a care in the world.  But Angel was met with no acknowledgement, so for the moment, he'd concentrate on Connor.  "That poor kid had it so tough.  I couldn't... let him go on like he was.  He deserved the chance at a real life... with a family.  With a future."

"So you gave him up."  Buffy's expression was tender and soothing.  "You made a huge sacrifice so he could have a life."  As she put her arms around Angel and pulled him closer, she thought of Spike, and of what he'd done for her.  Holding him, tears came to her eyes and she whispered softly, "You're not alone anymore."

At her words, Angel squeezed her, forcing out her hot breath against his shoulder.  Overwhelmed by emotion of his memories, of her words, of the closeness they shared, the tall strong vampire buried his face in her hair and wept.  

Buffy sensed the release of his pain.  She knew he was crying.  Having him there... in her arms... in tears, made her ache to comfort him; ache remembering holding Spike.  She pulled back from his embrace, moving to stand before him.  Taking his head in her hands, with the innocence of a child, Buffy held his chin up so their eyes would meet.  Then slowly, she pressed a soft kiss to his forehead.  

Though to him his hands seemed heavy, he reached to take her hips.  

As she brushed her lips down the side of his face, peppering his flesh with delicate kisses, she could taste the salt of his cool tears.  

As her kisses pleasurably scorched his face, his grip tightened on her hips.  With his widely splayed fingers wrapping around her tiny form, he pulled her closer.  Straining not to move his face too far from her mouth lest he lose the feel of her, he pressed his own lips to the soft sweet skin of her throat.

"Angel..." Buffy cooed against his ear with a whimper before pulling back to take his mouth with hers.  

As she clutched at his collar, he slipped his hands up under her tank drawing it up over her head.  After fumbling desperately with his buttons, Buffy peeled the dark silk shirt from his pale skin.  In the glow of the corner lamp, their newly bared skin shone.  The slightest film of perspiration upon Buffy's skin and the hum of hot blood coursing beneath it heightened Angel's yearning.  The feel of his cool hands and mouth against her breasts had Buffy burning for want of more.

Before long, they were tangled together in a flurry of bedding and bodies.  In an instant, it was as if everything went silent then he was inside her.  Eyes shut tightly.  Hopelessly lost in the moment.

... Nine:  RECEDE


	9. Recede

Nine:  RECEDE 

Sitting on the well-worn plastic seat in the middle of the city bus, John was staring out the window when a group of teenagers boarded.  Noisily they moved to the back of the bus.  Initially as they bumped past him, the reclusive man was annoyed, but as they settled in, giggling and chattering, there was something almost comforting about the situation.  Maybe he'd been a teacher, or grown up with sisters.  Or maybe he had children of his own.  He closed his eyes and tried to imagine --- strained to remember --- what his life might have been.  But all that came was the indecipherable banter of teenaged girls.  With a sigh, he opened his eyes.

John pulled the cord alerting the driver to make the next stop, slid from his seat and made his way to the rear exit of the bus.  As he reached the stairs, he glanced up at the gaggle of girls seated across the back of the bus and smiled.  He hadn't even realized that he'd done it, so when the teens began to giggle, he pursed his lips and raised an eyebrow in surprise.  As he stepped off the bus, he couldn't help but be amused by the whistles and whoops.  

Feeling flattered, John sauntered the few blocks to Judith's condominium complex.

"Hey John, how're things?" the doorman inquired as he buzzed the visitor into the lobby.

"Can't complain, I s'ppose."  He nodded his thanks and headed out across the courtyard.  When he reached her door, John was anxious.  Because of their schedules, he hadn't seen Jude in a couple of weeks and, except for the call to invite him to dinner, they hadn't even spoken.  He had so much to tell his friend.

***

The big night: John was coming over for dinner.  It wasn't the first time he'd been to her place.  They'd chatted over coffee; eaten pizza while watching television; they'd even played cards, but tonight was special.  "Dinner".

Judith checked her hair and make-up in the mirror for the tenth time in half an hour before mentally reviewing of her list of things to do:  the salad plates and wine were chilling in the fridge; rice was simmering on the stove; vegetables and stuffed chicken breasts were ready to pop in the oven; the table was set complete with fresh flowers and-  "Oh!  Light the candles," she remembered, going to find some matches.  She wanted everything to be perfect for the night she would tell John how she felt about him.  Maybe they'd even-  She hurried into the bedroom and checked the night stand.  Was she being overly optimistic opening the box of condoms?

The door bell rang.  

Another quick check.  A deep breath.  "This is it." She smiled nervously as she smoothed her form-fitting black cocktail dress and made her way to the door.

"Hey Jude."  

She loved when he'd say that.  There he was, dressed in snug black jeans and mock-turtleneck.  The blue of the sweater, Judith couldn't help but notice, brought out the colour of his eyes.  She loved his eyes and on this night, they sparkled with excitement.  

"John..."  Her voice was ragged; she hadn't noticed that her throat had gone dry at the sight of him.  "Um... Come on in."

"Thanks, pet," he said smiling.  Holding up a paper-bagged bottle and a simple bunch of daisies and carnations, he asked, "Got somewhere to put these?"

The enamoured woman took the flowers.  "These are beautiful.  You can just put that on the counter," she added as she searched her cupboard for a suitable vessel for the bouquet.  "Can I get you a drink?"

"Got a beer?" he requested as he settled himself comfortably on the couch.  

"Sure."  After filling the vase with water and setting it on the counter, she nestled the flowers into it giving them a quick fluffing to loosen the bouquet.  She grinned with delight at his thoughtfulness before turning to the fridge to grab a beer.  "Do you want a glass?" she asked as she poured herself a gin and tonic.  

"No, s'alright," he called back.  "Just get in 'ere already!"  He was eager to talk, so as soon as she was out of the kitchen he began, "So, you know I've been seein' that quack you recommended?"

Judith shook her head and rolled her eyes.  "Therapist.  She's a therapist."

"Whatever.  Bloody lot of rot that," he complained.  "Says I need to just relax and settle into a routine.  That I'm tryin' too 'ard, gettin' my knickers in a twist tryin' to remember.  Guess that's true enough.  Seems these... flashes come to me at the strangest times."

"I see."  She sat down beside him enthralled by the animation of his face.

"Can't remember a blasted thing when I want, but... well, there was this bit the other day.  I'd gone down to the corner shop to pick up a nice bottle of summat for tonight and... I don't know.  Thought maybe..."  His mind was all over the place, trying to figure out what more to tell her.  "So, I've tried relaxation," he continued.  "I've taken herbs.  She's had me shooting stuff up my nose, and... well, now she wants to give hypnosis a go."

Jude sounded reassuring, "It has been known to work for some people."  She was having to force herself to concentrate on what he was saying rather than being lulled into a hypnotic state of her own by the sexy tone of his voice.  

"Next thing you'll be tryin' to talk me into meditation.  Bet you've got the number of a shaman or some such that can unlock my deepest darkest secrets."  He smirked at her and she laughed, but inside both wished it really was so simple to discover some truth about the man. 

"It'll happen, John."  She sat down on the coffee table in front of him and took his hands.  Looking deeply into his troubled blue eyes, she said, "One day, you'll remember.  I believe in you."

_"I believe in you..."_

His face softened.  His jaw dropped slightly.  His head tipped.  He looked both shocked and comforted by her words; Judith was so touched and aroused that she leaned in a kissed him.

***

Her body ached.  

Earlier in the day, it ached in thrilling ways it hadn't in almost two years.  As they moved together, her flesh was slick against the fine Egyptian cotton sheets.  Her breasts tingled under the slightest brush of his hand.  The muscles of her thighs burned from the intensity of squeezing tightly so as not to allow the escape of the man she loved --- refusing to sacrifice the sensation she'd been so long without; the sensation that had had her throbbing with need and her head light with endorphins.  

But now Buffy's body ached horribly.  She could feel the blooming of each fingerprint cluster that mottled her back and buttocks; the fractures in her hands where he'd clutched too firmly; the sting of tissue fusing on her neck and breasts where he'd torn into her flesh and fed from her, grunting savagely with every draw.  And inside, Buffy was raw after pleasure had been replaced by real fear.  

In the aftermath, the diminutive form huddled against the pillow at the edge of the bed.  At the edge of sleep, Buffy desperately yearned to bask in the afterglow of their passion.  Lying bruised and weakened in the blood-streaked sheets, she couldn't.  Instead her thoughts were dominated by images of fury and intensity, and her heart was heavy with a feeling of great loss.  Closing her eyes, she could feel the tears 

No!  Buffy didn't want to cry.  She didn't want to think.  Didn't want to feel.  She only wanted to sleep.  To rest.

_"Can we rest now?  Buffy... can we rest?"_

***

Angel crouched on the tiled floor with water pelting like shards of ice from above.  The scene reminded him of another night, years earlier when, after a century of shallow encounters and solitude, the vampire had connected with another soul.  He'd been in love for perhaps the first time in his life and though it was a love he fought, eventually it consumed him.  And it was that love which literally changed his life as he shared a night of tenderness unlike anything he'd known before --- or since.  That night, with Buffy asleep beside him, he'd awoken in a panic and run out into the deluge and darkness as his soul was freed into the ether.  

That hadn't happened this time.  Unlike the sweet innocence of their first intimate experience, their lovemaking on this night was desperate, impassioned, carnal.  Though he'd told her over and over and over that he loved her --- whispered, screamed, muttered, and growled his words of love --- Angel knew love alone hadn't driven him.  To him, what had passed between them was so much more like his night with Darla: about need not love, and that realization only exacerbated his suffering for it had been that night that their son was conceived.  "Connor..."  

But it wasn't just his feelings or urges that had changed.  She'd changed.  She wasn't the submissive girl she'd been when they'd first made love.  Buffy was now a woman who knew what she liked and knew how to get it, and that awareness enraged Angel's demon.  Though he'd tried to deny or ignore the notion that Buffy had been with Spike, as their lovemaking progressed, he couldn't help but think of Spike kissing her, touching her, thrusting inside her, making her scream with satisfaction...

Tearing at his scalp, the vampire roared then smashed his fisted hands against floor shattering the ceramic tiles.  As the blood and hair swirled into the drain, he collapsed against the broken tile and wept.

***

"Jude..." John called hesitantly after knocking on her bathroom door.  "I'm sorry.  I didn't... didn't mean to... I mean, I just didn't realize you-"

She opened the door.  Her nose was red; her eyes, blood-shot; and her mascara was smeared across her cheek.  But still she forced a smile.  "It's alright, John."  She chuckled awkwardly.  "I don't know... what I was thinking."  She walked quickly past him so he couldn't see the tears welling again in her eyes or the flush of embarrassment burn in her cheeks.

John stood uncomfortably in the hall trying to decide what to do or say, and he could only arrive at one conclusion.  "Maybe I should... just go."

At his words, the dejected woman squeezed her eyes tightly and sucked in an audible breath.  Then she nodded.  "I think you should."

***

At her feet dead, lay a two-headed reptilian creature.  It had been a struggle, but she'd managed to best it.  

"You have done well." 

Startled by the voice, the lithe Asian girl spun around, wild-eyed and ready for another fight.

Two men in dark suits approached her; nervously she back down the alley.

"Please," one of the men continued in the girl's native Sichuan.  "We mean you no harm.  We only want to talk."

. Ten:  RESPECTS


	10. Respects

Ten:  RESPECTS 

Though it was noon, Buffy was still bed when her friend buzzed from the lobby.  On the way to answer the door, she glanced habitually in the mirror.  Dressed in loose sweats and an oversized T-shirt, her tresses unwashed and hanging in tangles, Buffy was a mess.  Pulling a clump of hair from one side, she winced at the sight of the still-healing lesions on her neck.  What had she been thinking to have let that happen?  Why had she taken such a great risk with Angel?  And why hadn't it all ended with Angelus ripping her throat out?  Shuddering at that thought, she finger-combed her hair to cover the wound then went to door.

 "Willow," greeted the blonde with a weak smile.  She spread her arms to welcome her friend with a hug that Willow accepted.   "I'm glad you came."  Even as the words passed her lips, she knew they were hollow.  Buffy wanted to be happy to have her friend close.  She wanted to be able to talk with someone about what had happened with Angel but she couldn't; Willow wouldn't understand.

"We tried to come earlier, but we couldn't change our tickets," Willow explained as the two broke their embrace.  "As it is, I had to work a little magic to get myself on that flight."  She grinned, pleased with her own joke.  

Weeks before hearing of Cordelia's passing, Giles had already made arrangements to travel with a group of trainee slayers from Council Headquarters in England to California.  Andrew made every effort to reschedule the flights, but there was no way, given the size of the group, that their needs could be accommodated.  As a result, Willow and Giles arrived the morning of the funeral.  

Buffy peered down the hall then noted, "Giles not with you?"

"He wanted to get the Slayers set up in Reseda before coming down," the witch explained.  "You know:  big scary harbinger of death and everything," she added with fingers raised like claws near her face.

Unconsciously, Buffy rolled her eyes.  The "Chosen One" was annoyed when Giles had told her that he didn't want her to participate in the fight against the prophesied Beast of Amalfi.  He thought the newer Slayers needed to gain some experience and confidence free from Buffy's influence or command.  What they lacked in experience, they'd make up for in numbers, he was certain.  But what did it matter?  Buffy was building a new life beyond slaying and was only too happy to let someone else deal with the latest apocalypse.  

"Here, let me get your bag," Buffy said as she waved her friend inside.  "You must be really tired after your trip."  

"Yeah.  I could use a shower and a nap before..." the redhead trailed off awkwardly.  "Before the funeral."

"Sure.  You can have my room," offered Buffy, with a quick but not too subtle subject change as she carried her friend's bag into the smaller bedroom.  "I'll share with Dawn."

***

Giles stepped away from the front desk of an economical but decent and conveniently located hotel that Andrew found on the internet.  With several keys in hand, he called for the attention of the group of chattering young women gathered in the lobby.  "Alright ladies."  

As the Watcher began, the girls quickly quieted and some pulled out notebooks.  

"You'll be staying four to a room."  He passed a key to four of the older girls receiving a polite "thank you" from each one.  "I've to attend to a personal matter.  I hope to return later this evening.  Do try to get some rest this afternoon.  The next several days shall be quite taxing."

Giles was proud of his latest group of Slayers --- or to be more accurate, proud of the authority he commanded.  In spite of limited resources, the Watcher managed to provide what he felt was an excellent level of training for this lot of young women.  Although time was limited, they'd been given a reasonably well-rounded slayer education including fighting and defensive techniques, demons identification and some problem solving skills.  The group was green but motivated, and these Slayers worked well as a team and in smaller groups.  Giles was confident they would succeed in their first real-life challenge.

***

As Buffy pulled the car into the Funeral Home lot and parked, she was lost in thought.  The last funeral she'd attended --- in other than Slayer-capacity --- was her mother's nearly three years earlier.  She'd been numb. Going through the motions.  Doing what needed to be done:  filing papers, choosing flowers and the casket, and making other arrangements.  Anything but mourning.  She couldn't let herself fall apart; Dawn needed her.  But finally, when everything was done and her mother had been laid to rest, he was there:  her Angel.  Now Buffy felt she had to be there for him.  

This was Cordelia's funeral.  She'd been someone special in his life, a fact with which Buffy still had trouble dealing and didn't fully comprehend because... well, this was Cordelia.  But Angel had loved her and lost her; he was grieving now --- all things Buffy understood far too well --- and he needed support.  

"Buffy?"  Dawn leaned through the rear car door.  "Are you... coming in?"

"In a minute, OK Dawnie?" she replied glancing with watering eyes into the rear-view mirror.  "You go ahead with Willow."  Somehow, even though she tried to focus on Angel and his loss, she couldn't help but think of her own.  Her mother.  Spike.  So many of those important "developmental years" of her life.  All lost in a crater on the California coast.

"Kinda funny what funerals make you think of," a gentle but somewhat nasal voice said.  

"Oh Lorne.  Is it time?" Buffy asked as she brushed away the tears that she only now realized were streaming down her cheeks.

"Not yet, honey," the demon replied.  "I was just out here warming up for my solo.  Couldn't help catchin' the vibes you're sendin' out."

The melancholic woman strained to smile and look up at the sympathetic being.  In so doing, she was struck by how odd he looked.  He was dressed very conservatively in a dark charcoal suit with a black shirt and grey striped tie, all entirely appropriate for the sombre occasion but quite out of character given Lorne's typically flashy style.  Still it was his actual physical appearance which most surprised Buffy because standing there in the overcast light of day, Lorne appeared entirely human.  No horns.  Green skin replaced with a lovely golden brown.  Warm chestnut eyes and a bright white smile.

"Um... Lorne?"  

"What is it, doll?" he asked.  "Do I have something on my face?"  Patting his cheeks, Lorne grinned and winked knowingly.  "Just a little glamour I had one of the gals at the office perform.  Don't want to draw too much attention given the situation.  But enough about me," he insisted as he crossed behind the car to the passenger door and climbed inside.  "I think you could use a little help.  Isn't that right?"

***

"Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Chase?" said a mousey young woman uneasily offering a hand.  "My name's Winifred Burkle.  I was a good friend of your daughter."

"Yes, Cordelia spoke fondly of you," the man replied stiffly, giving her hand a quick shake.  Clearly he was trying to be strong for his wife who had been reduced to dramatic tears on his opposite arm.

With a sympathetic smile, Fred added meekly, "I'm very sorry for your loss."

"Would you excuse us?" Mr. Chase asked Fred before turning to his wife.  "I think we should go take our seats."

"Sure," Fred replied.  As the grief-stricken parents moved out of earshot, Fred began to mutter, "Well that was incredibly awkward.  You'd think with the number of people you've consoled over the past few years that you could come up with something better than 'I'm sorry for your loss' to say to the parents of one of your closest friends, not that she was all that close the last year, what with the rising to a higher plain then coming back not knowing who she was, only for us to discover she's sleeping with-"  She stopped abruptly when she noticed a number of the other mourners staring.  "Could anything be more embarrassing?" she asked aloud.  "I'm still doing it aren't I?  Excuse me.  I see someone who... knows how to stop me from running on like this."  Quickly she left the foyer and headed inside the chapel where she noticed Wesley and Gunn had appeared with Angel.

***

It was an odd place for a vampire to be:  mid-day, sitting on the aisle in the front row of a funeral chapel.  He'd lost people before, people he cared about.  Darla ended her own existence so that their baby could live.  Buffy died to save the world from untold hell.  Doyle lost his life to save an innocent peaceful species.  They died heroically, sacrificing themselves for the greater good.  But that simply wasn't the case with Cordelia.

A dozen feet away was her casket, topped with white lilies and roses, and a propped-up frame at its head.  The photo was from a happier time of a beautiful young woman with sleek shoulder length chocolate brown hair, the slightest hint of a smile and cheerful wide hazel eyes.  Staring into those eyes, Angel remembered those earlier days before Jasmine, before the Beast, before Connor returned, before he was taken away... when they were fighting evil instead of each other.  Even then, Cordelia had suffered the excruciating pain of her visions.  Pain she accepted in order to help others; pain she accepted to help Angel.  And for those years of suffering, she was "rewarded" with the manipulation of her mind and her body, isolation from her friends and family, and ultimately a premature senseless death.

"What a waste," he whispered softly.    

Focusing his attention elsewhere he could hear the quiet murmurs and sobs from others in the building.  For an instant, he sensed her presence:  Buffy was here.  Without thinking, he breathed in wanting to find comfort in her scent.  Instead his vampire sense was met with the cloying odour of flowers and the nauseating stench of disinfectant and death --- an awful reminder of a lost life... friendship... love:  Cordelia.

***

"We gather together to say goodbye to our dear friend, Cordelia..."

"Shit!" Buffy cursed under her breath as she nervously entered the chapel.  After singing a few bars of  "Another Postcard" along with the Barenaked Ladies on the radio and talking with Lorne afterward about what he'd seen in her aura, Buffy stayed in the car composing herself before going inside.  Now, noting Angel seated up front with his friends, she slipped onto a pew on the opposite side of the aisle at the back.  Hardly listening to the officiant, instead the confused woman mulled over what Lorne had said.  He hadn't actually told her anything didn't already know, deep down.  Lorne had only compelled Buffy to look inside herself --- she didn't like what she saw.  

In the wake of the apocalypse, the senior-most Slayer believed she deserved the chance to be like any ordinary person.  Over and over in the days following their exodus from the crater, one phrase that kept coming up was "now you can have a normal life" and although she intended to start living, Buffy really hadn't.  Since the closing of the Hellmouth and the destruction of Sunnydale, Buffy hadn't gone back to school; she hadn't gotten a job or even looked for one; and she'd patrolled infrequently.  When asked why she'd backed away from slaying, Buffy tried to convince Lorne (and herself) that she was doing other important things and spending quality time with Angel while he wasn't working.  In reality, Buffy wasn't patrolling because when she wandered alone through the local cemeteries, she thought of Spike.  She was listless during the day because she wasn't sleeping well at night.  She didn't sleep well because when she lay alone in bed, she often thought of Spike.  Now sitting in the chapel where others sat mourning the loss of a friend, Buffy was thinking of Spike.  But she didn't want to think about Spike; he was gone.  He was part of her past and she'd put all her hopes for the future into a life of love with Angel.

Lorne made her examine her relationship with Angel too.  When she was in high school, Buffy had given Angel almost everything she had:  her trust, her love, her body.  That "everything" was great and powerful, for it had given the lonely sullen vampire "pure happiness".  In exchange, Buffy received ridicule and torment.  She lost that perfect love when Angel became Angelus.  In the years after, Buffy tried to find with other guys, a love like what she had with Angel.  No one ever measured up.  No one else could ever be Angel.

***

On the chilly December night, the solitary vampire stood at Cordelia's grave.  He closed his eyes for a pensive moment then in an instant knew he was no longer alone.  

"I'm sorry I couldn't come sooner," Buffy said softly as she moved to stand beside him.

Pulling a hand from deep in his coat pocket, he unclenched his fist and reached for the tiny hand beside him.  When his fingers brushed her palm, Buffy flinched reflexively and pulled away.  Angel grimaced then opened his eyes allowing a tear to fall; Buffy cursed herself.  Together they stood in silence staring at the freshly turned soil.

"I was at the service..."

"I know," he whispered hoarsely.  "And it was... nice to have you there."

The quiet returned.

"Angel?" The apprehensive young woman swallowed hard as she tried to compose in her head what she had to tell him.  "I've made a decision."

He turned to her with a sorrowful and distant expression; his wide dark eyes looking to her for answers.

"I'm going to go back with Giles.  For Christmas.  He invited Dawn and me."  Her phrases were choppy but she was saying what needed to be said.  "I don't think it's good for you and me to be together.  And I think the other night... well, kinda proved that."

Ashamed, he dropped his head.  "Buffy, I'm sorry about that.  I-"

"There's no need.  You're still you," she tried to comfort.  "And that's a good."  The fragile woman smiled sadly, averting his eyes.  "But you scared me the other night," she revealed.  "And I don't know whether it was the reminder that Angelus is still a part of you or the fact that our being together didn't... didn't free your soul, but..."

"Buffy-"

"You said it yourself:  you had a life without me.  I had a life too."  Both of their hearts were breaking at her words.  "And now I just think it would be better if we... let go of the past.  Yours.  Mine.  Ours.  What we had years ago... we'll never have that again.  We've both changed."

He just nodded glumly and turned away.

"I'm sorry."  

... Eleven:  RECOGNIZE


	11. Recognize

Eleven:  RECOGNIZE 

  
Lorne strolled down the hall of the Wolfram and Hart executive suites with two assistants, each hauling files with documents for him to sign, while he carried on a conversation on his hands-free telephone.  "Yes, Cath-honey, you'll look fabulous at the gala.  Don't you go worrying that gorgeous little head of yours.  Ciao."  Turning to one assistant's stack of papers, he feigned frustration, "These big stars:  you gotta hold their hands every step of the way."  After signing several pages, the tall flamboyant demon sighed dramatically, "Enough with the paperwork already.  I need a drink."  Waving his assistants off, Lorne strutted into the Angel's office, calling back, "Just put that stuff on my desk.  I'll have a look at the rest in the morning."

Lorne fixed himself a cocktail then sat down on the corner of the desk of the firm's Chief Executive Officer.  "Oh thank my lucky stars someone around here stocks your bar."  After a long satisfying sip, the demon added, "No offence, Angel-cakes, but left up to you this place would be inhospitably low on the libations."

"Was there something you needed, Lorne?" asked Angel, barely looking up from the file he was reviewing.

Lorne leaned over and slapped a great green hand across his friend's papers.  "I'm taking you out." 

The vampire just glared, unimpressed with both the action and the suggestion.

"Look, you've been cooped up too long.  You gotta get out before you get yourself completely lost in the great big evil that is work."

"I've got too much to do," the CEO groused pulling the papers from beneath Lorne's hand causing the demon to tumble backward and spill his drink.

"Now look what you've done," Lorne complained as he climbed from the desktop whisking Sea Breeze off his jacket.  "It's not as if I buy this stuff off the rack."  He rolled his eyes and hummed his annoyance before turning back to his friend.  "I've gotta see a client up in Encino.  Figured you could join me.  Consider it business.  We'll have a few drinks.  Maybe that'll loosen you up and you can-"

"I'm not singing," Angel stipulated sternly.

"Oh good god no," his friend replied too eagerly for the vampire's liking.  "But maybe you can open up a little about what's been going on in behind those big beautiful brown eyes."  He paused as Angel looked up with a question on his face.  "Look, it doesn't take a tune for me to see you're troubled.  The new business.  Cordy passing on.  Buffy...  Well, it's all gotta hit you pretty hard.  So come on, let a pal lend an ear."

"Alright already.  Let me get my coat."

"Of course.  I wouldn't hear of you heading out sans fabulous coat," Lorne teased.  "Besides, you didn't think I was going in this, did you?  P-lease.  I've got an image to maintain.  I can't go around covered with cranberry stains."

"As if anyone would notice," Angel joked nodding to the demon's garish shirt and bright red suit.

***

"That was gross," one young Slayer declared as she combed slimy chunks from her hair, flicking the goo onto the pavement.

Another agreed, "Yeah, who expected exploding eyeballs?"

"Everyone present and accounted for?" Giles inquired from below a street light.

One of the girls nodded.  "Just a few minor injuries in my group, Mr. Giles."

"I've got Jane bandaged up," another replied.

A third called from nearby, "Think Mickey's gonna need a splint, but otherwise we're OK."

The band of Slayers gathered around their teacher awaiting further instructions as they attended to each others cuts and scrapes.  

"I'm very proud of you girls," the Watcher announced, eliciting smiles from the Slayers who seemed to stand taller at the declaration.  "We've a few days before our flights.  P'rhaps we can plan some proper sight seeing.  In the mean time, let's all head back to the hotel, get cleaned up and have a rest," he instructed before heading to the driver's side of one of the rental vans.

"Rest?" one of the Slayers questioned.  "Who can sleep now?!" 

"Not me.  I'm so stoked," another exclaimed.

"That was way cool."

Helen, a German Slayer suggested, "Ve shood go to a club."

"That'd be brill," Natalie, a Brit, chimed in.  

"But how're we gonna get into a club?" grumbled Dallas, an American more aware of state liquor laws than the foreigners.

Natalie added, "And whatta we going to tell Mr. Giles?" 

"We don't really have to tell him anything," said Sandy, an older American, who'd been assigned as the driver of the second rental van.  "We'll just... make a wrong turn.  And don't worry about ID, we'll get in."   She smirked slyly at the others who giggled as they climbed aboard the van.  

***

Lorne and Angel sat at a booth in the dimly lit lounge.  On stage was a peculiar looking individual with frizzy hair, far too much eye-makeup and a distracting number of body piercings, belting out classic Madonna hits as she gyrated between her lead guitarist and the bass player who were literally covered in tattoos.

"Somebody stop the room spinning, I wanna get off," Lorne declared as he attempted to flag down a waitress.

"Intense reading?" Angel inquired, unable to take his eyes off the performers.

The green demon smiled and nodded as he waved his hand over the table indicating they wanted another round.  "Oh come on, Angel-hair, this is bad."

"You mean evil?" Angel asked with what might be considered enthusiasm at the prospect of having a good fight to take his mind off his troubles.  "Do they sacrifice babies?  Are they trying to raise some sort of demon?  Is it the apocalypse?"  

"What?"  Bemused, Lorne looked to his friend.  "No, I mean this is bad.  You stand a better chance of landing a record deal.  No offence."

Angel scowled then sarcastically replied, "None taken."

When the wailing from on stage ceased and the applause died down, another shrill voice shot over the crowd.  "Well look what we have here, girls:  Demons!"  

Instantly, Angel was thrown from his chair to the ground while Lorne found himself pinned against a wall by two incredibly strong young women while a third pummelled him.

"Hey, easy does it," Lorne squealed.  "This isn't wrinkle free!"

***

John arrived home from work just before dawn to find a basket of muffins, still warm, on his door step.  "Sweet ol' bird."  He smiled at his landlady's thoughtfulness then opened his door.  Inside, he dropped his bag apathetically on the floor and went to the kitchen to brew up some tea.  With the kettle on, he flopped down on the couch munching a muffin and clicked on the television.

... an increase in teen violence across the country.  More disturbing, violence among young women has-  News.  John changed the channel.  

...jealous of the rest of the kids who're gonna get to experience you next year 'cause they're going to get to be with you and I'm not... 

"Oh Pacey, you blind idiot..." he grumbled.

... for just three easy payments of nine-   Infomercial.

... Harris, the foreman on this Habitat project.  Thanks for letting us come out and tour your site. 

Hey, no prob Bob.  It's great to have you here. 

That voice.  That face.  "I know this bloke!" John said aloud as he leapt to his feet pointing at the television.  "I know 'im!"  He closed his eyes trying to concentrate, trying to remember from where he knew the stocky guy in the plaid shirt.  "Bugger."  He grabbed the phone and dialled hastily.  "Jude!  It's John."

"John?  What's up?" she asked groggily, "Besides not me.  What time is it?"

"Sorry... and again, 'm sorry about the... ah... misunderstanding the other-"

Frustrated, she barked, "What do you want?"

"Jude?"

"Why are you calling me at..."  Judith paused to look at her clock.  "...a quarter after seven in the morning on my day off?"

"Oh... right.  I found someone I know," he exclaimed.  "From before."  Without a pause or a breath, he launched into what might well have been a conversation with himself.  "Guess I didn't actually find 'im.  Not... exactly.  I saw 'im on the telly.  And his voice... it's just so... I dunno.  Bloody great coincidence, too.  If I hadn't already seen that episode of _Dawson_-" 

"Whoa... hold up a minute.  What?"  John was speaking so quickly Judith couldn't follow.  "You saw somebody?"

"On the telly."

"What channel?" she asked.

Shyly John replied, "TLC." 

"The Learning Channel?  Hang on," his friend ordered as she grabbed her remote.  "John... that's just Bob Vila."

"Not 'im, th' other one," John insisted.  

"Are you sure you know him?"

"Quite.  He's a carpenter or some such," he noted.  "Works in Oregon.  Eugene, I think 'e said."

"So you might have lived in Oregon?" Judith asked with cheerful curiosity.

"S'ppose."

"Did you get a name?"

"Harris."  Something just seemed right about the name.  "Alex Harris."

"Hang on a second, John."  

He could hear a computer boot up then tapping on a keyboard.  

After a short while she was back.  "Hmm... There's more than a hundred and seventy Harrises."  Another pause and more clicking.  "Hey!  There's an 'A. L. Harris'."

John sat quietly holding the phone with whitening knuckles.  This was the first solid lead to his past he'd encountered since apparently washing up on the beach up the coast.  "Jude..."  Helplessly, he asked, "What do I do now?"

... Twelve:  REPROACH


	12. Reproach

Twelve:  REPROACH 

"Oh shit, here's another one."  The club owner cowered with a couple of his employees behind the bar as an intense dark-haired woman dressed in jeans and a leather jacket entered the room.  "We're closed!"

Without hesitating, Faith strode to hover over the crouched figures.  "What the hell happened here?"  

The place was a mess:  shattered glass, broken furniture and half a dozen demon corpses scattered around the room.

"Please, don't hurt us!" a waitress pleaded.  

The bartender insisted, "We're all human.  Honest."  

The three were whimpering and clearly frightened.  

Faith couldn't tell how long they might have been huddled there.  "Hey, look," the Slayer grunted, "I'm not gonna hurt ya.  I just wanna know what happened.  A couple of my friends were supposed to be in here last night, and I-"

"Faith?" a strained and muffled voice called from one side of the club.  "Is that you?"

She turned toward the sound but couldn't see anyone familiar in amongst the debris.  "Lorne?"

"Oh," he squeaked, "Thank the god of all that's fashionable!"

"Lorne?" Faith repeated as she scanned the lounge trying to find the demon.  

"Over here!" 

She caught a glimpse of a pair of shiny red shoes then rushed over to him.  "Lorne, what the hell hap-  Geez!"  She'd found him.  Part of him.  "Lorne, ya gotta help me out here.  Where's your head?"

"I rolled under the table at one of the booths," he cried dramatically.  "Don't you ever clean under here?  It's disgusting," he complained to the management.

The concerned Slayer followed the sound of the demon's voice.  Sure enough, his head had rolled under a table - and he was right, it was disgusting under there:  sticky and dusty, and splattered with demon blood.  

Faith grimaced as she picked up the head, holding it uncertainly.  "Lorne, I've done some pretty grim stuff in my time, but this is just..."  A drip of fluid oozed from his severed neck onto the leg of her jeans.  "... nasty."  As she carried him over to the rest of his body, trying not to trip on overturned furniture or step on broken glass, she asked, "OK, so how's this work?"

"Just stick my head back on my body, I'll do the rest."  

She knelt by his body and set the two detached parts together, groaning at the squishy noise they made when she pushed the parts together.  

Lorne shifted his head slightly with his hands then sat up.  After giving his shoulders a roll and cracking his neck to one side then the other, he explained, "Yeah, we Deathwok clan are a tough bunch.  To kill us, you've got to mutilate our bodies.  Fortunately, we're not well known on in this dimension, so-"

"So what the hell happened?" Faith asked again still baffled by the scene.

As he brushed himself off, he grumbled, "A bunch of you happened."

***

"Ah good morning, ladies," Giles greeted a group of late risers as he sipped his tea in the Reseda hotel restaurant.  He'd been reviewing papers in anticipation of the planned redistribution of Slayers and of his return to Headquarters.  "Please," he said as he motioned to chairs at his table, "do sit down."

A couple of them took seats, oblivious to the suspicious tone in the Watcher's voice, but most knew something was up.  

"Tell me, did you sleep well?" he asked as he pulled off his glasses and began cleaning them while the girls gave shaky but affirmative responses.  "Alright.  Now which of you girls is going to tell me why you arrived here so much later than the rest of us last night --- or rather, this morning?"

Most of the girls were just guiltily staring at the table top or glancing around with shifty eyes when Natalie spoke up, "We turned wrong coming back."

"Yeah, and we came across a bunch of demons and took 'em out," Sandy stated proudly of the group's accomplishment.

"Oh?" Giles questioned curiously.

Helen explained, "Yah.  Zere vere two on ze street."

"And we heard about some more at a club," added Sandy.

"It was the oddest thing, Mr. Giles," Natalie said.  "There was this one demon and it looked like 'e was chattin' up a vampire."

"A vampire?  That is odd," the Watcher agreed.  "Demons don't normally associate with vampires; they see them as hybrid abominations."

"Zat's not ze strangest part."

"Helen's right.  What about that outfit?" one of the other girls spoke up.

"White dinner jacket.  Shiny blue shirt."

Dallas chimed in, "And a red scarf thing..." 

Giles paled.  "You mean an ascot?"  

"Yeah, I guess."

"So this thing was like a real live lounge lizard," remarked Sandy.  "Big and green with red glowy eyes."

"Oh dear lord," Giles groaned.  "And the vampire he was with?"

"Dust!" the girls cheered.

***

Poking her head into his office, a secretary spoke, "Mr. Gunn?"

"Meredith, what's up?" 

"You're needed in an emergency meeting," the woman explained.

"Is it the big cat?"

"No, but Lorne's assistant did say that it's urgent all executive members meet in the boardroom as soon as possible."

"Sure, thanks," he said casually as he got up from his desk, glad to leave his paperwork behind.  

The spacious executive suites were done in rich woods and textures, with warm lighting and elegant floral arrangements.  It was a far cry from their dark cramped old office space at the Hyperion.  Strolling the halls in such surroundings seemed to make the former demon-hunting street-gang leader walk taller, prouder.

"D' you know what's goin' on, Wes?" asked Gunn as he entered the boardroom.

The other man sat uneasily at the far end of the table.  "Haven't a clue."

"I guess we're just waiting for Angel and Lorne," Fred noted from where she'd curled up in one of the large executive chairs.

"Angel's not coming," Faith stated gruffly, having suddenly appeared in the doorway with Lorne.  "I think you're gonna wanna sit down for this," she suggested to Gunn as Lorne made a beeline for the bar.

"OK, look.  I'm just gonna tell you what I know," the Slayer began.  "Last night, Lorne and Angel were attacked."

The others gasped and looked on with wide eyes.  

"I found Lorne early this morning at that club they went to, but Angel..."  The normally tough young woman appeared shaken.  "We're not exactly sure but we think he was..."

"Oh my god," cried Fred.

"No way.  He musta gotten out," Gunn insisted.  "It's not like he hasn't taken off before."

"He has a point," agreed Wesley.  "P'rhaps a search-"

"He's gone," Lorne declared without any of his characteristic flair.  "He wouldn't have run off and left me lying in headless on a dirty floor.  Not that great big lovable-"

Before the demon had finished his lament, there was a knock on the door.  "Mr. Wyndham-Pryce:  there's a call for you."

"Take a message," the Brit barked.

"It's Mr. Giles," the woman stated.  "He insists that you take the call."

"Alright," grumbled Wesley.  "Would you put the call through?"  

She nodded and went to her desk.  Soon the phone was ringing.  

"Rupert," Wesley greeted curtly.

Giles dispensed with the pleasantries and launched into the business at hand, "Could you tell me, have you been in touch with Angel or Lorne today?"

"Well, yes," the younger man replied.  "Lorne's right here.  Why do you-"

"Oh good," sighed Giles with relief.  "So everyone's alright.  No... ah... incidents to report?"

Agitated, Wesley countered, "Actually no, everyone's not alright.  Lorne and Angel were attacked last night."

The voice on the other end groaned, "Oh dear lord."

"Lorne was decapitated.  Thankfully his... species is rather resilient.  But Angel-"

"You've not heard from him?" Giles said with concern.

"No, we haven't."

The Watcher paused for a long while, fully aware of what most likely happened to the other man's friend.  "Wesley... I'm sorry to have to tell you this but I believe that ah... a number of my girls..."

"They killed him," Wesley shot back.

The others sat in stunned silence hearing what they presumed to be confirmation of what they'd all feared. 

"Yes.  I believe so."

"What the bloody hell have you been teaching those girls!?" the former Watcher roared.  "Don't they know that there are passive even benevolent demons?  You never bothered to mention Angel was a vampire with a soul?"

"Well, yes I-"

"He fought on the side of right!  And now because your girls went on a mad rampage he's gone!"

"Wes," Fred tried to get the man's attention.  "Wesley!"

He stopped his barrage and looked at the frail young woman.  

"Who's gonna tell Buffy?"

... Thirteen:  RE-ENCOUNTER


	13. Reencounter

Thirteen:  RE-ENCOUNTER 

On an unusually chilly night, two young Slayers were finishing rounds of the cemetery.  

"Hey Vi?" called her colleague.  

"Yeah?" the red-headed Sunnydale veteran replied in a stage-whisper, trying not to alert too much of the area's undead population.  "What is it?"

"I think the thrill's warn off," the other teen declared as she sat down on one of the great stone monuments and pulled her knees up to her chest.  

"Thrill?  It isn't supposed to be a thrill.  It's our duty."  Vi was indignant.  She stood strong and tall with her chin held high and hands on her hips.  "We're saving the world from evil.  Protecting humanity from demons and vampires and-"

"Creatures that go bump in the night?" a third Slayer appeared from out of nowhere startling the first two, causing Vi to jump and the other girl to tumble backwards off the headstone.

"Jess!" Vi squealed happily.  "What are you doing here?"

"I'm supposed to start my rotation here after Christmas, but..."  She quickly somersaulted in the air from where she'd been standing, narrowly avoiding the grasp of a fledgling rising from beneath her feet.  "I got bored," she finished as she dropped to her knees and plunged her stake through the young vampire's chest, which exploded to dust along with the rest of the creature.  "How could you ever get tired of that?  It's just so cool!"

"Ashley, this is Jessica," Vi introduced casually.  "She was with me in Sunnydale.  Jess, Ashley.  She's... ah... What's the opposite of 'mentor'?"

"Lacky?" the other experienced Slayer suggested.  

"Hey!" Ashley objected.

With a smirk, Vi said, "Well, I'm her mentor.  Better get used to the idea:  I'll bet Mr. Giles has someone lined up for you too."

Jess rolled her eyes.  "Yeah.  Whatever.  So, where are you headed from here?"

"I'm going home for the next semester," the red-head stated contentedly.  "My mom and dad are pretty happy about that.  I've hardly been home since before Sunnydale.  After that, who knows?  Guess there's a bunch of new girls, so it might be a while before I rotate back to Cleveland."

The other girls nodded.  

"Vi?" Ashley began tentatively.  "How does this hellmouth compare to the one in Sunnydale?"

"Hard to say really.  Things were pretty crazy when we were there," the red-head said.

Jess scoffed, "No kidding.  Living in a house with thirty other girls."

"And one bathroom," noted Vi.

"One bathroom?" the newest Slayer remarked.  "You really were in hell."  

The three laughed and headed for the cemetery's main gate.

***

Once John decided what his next course of action would be, he had quickly made arrangements for someone to take his shifts at the lot for the week, let his landlady know he'd be away and stuffed some clothes and things into a bag for the trip.  Soon, he had nothing to do but sit and wait out the two-day bus ride north.

The trip was long.  People got on; others got off in a seemingly endless cycle through countless cities and towns.  The rocking motion of the vehicle combined with the jarring halts had John constantly in and out of sleep.  

_Tired and sore, he stumbled forward to lean on her for support.  The scent of vanilla and citrus and the subtlest hint of spice and perspiration filled his senses; relief eased his mind; gratitude filled his heart.  _

_She gazed empathetically into his eyes --- soft, warm, her green eyes looking deep into his soul._

"Um... excuse me."

John took a deep breath and yawned it out again as he rubbed his lids.  When he opened his dry eyes, the disoriented man found himself nearly cheek to cheek, slumped over against a young woman with a crinkled brow.  "Sorry," he said awkwardly as he shifted upright into his own seat.

"That's OK," the girl assured.  "I mean, taking the bus kinda sucks.  And hey, at least you didn't drool."  She gave him a comforting half smile.

"Yeah, I s'ppose."

"Are you going home for Christmas?" she asked.

"Ah... no.  I'm goin' to see an old friend," stated John with some trepidation.  

The girl nodded.  "Hey that's cool.  I'm going home for winter break."  She offered him some chips; he gave her a bottle of juice.  The two continued to chat until late afternoon when the bus pulled into the Greyhound terminal.  

"Well... nice talkin' with you."  John smiled.  The student had proved a wonderful distraction keeping the man's troubled mind occupied for a couple of hours, but now the aim of his mission and the questions returned.  Duffle in hand, John took a deep breath as his feet touched down in Eugene, Oregon.  He wandered through the station, grabbed a coffee, a couple of sandwiches and a transit map then headed out to find an economical motel to shower, change and figure out how to get to Alex Harris' home.

***

They'd just finished dinner and were clearing dishes when the doorbell rang.  

"You expecting someone, hun?" "Alex" Harris asked his girlfriend Nicole as he dropped his dishes into the sink and headed for the door.

"No," she replied.  He'd met her on his first Habitat for Humanity project.  She was volunteer, a student at the community college and she had a great sense of humour.  After only three months dating, they moved in together.  "Bet this was just your evil plan to get out of helping with the dishes."

"Hey, whatever it takes," he joked in return.  "I'm always looking-"  He stopped mid-sentence when, after opening the door, he found a familiar figure on his front step.  Average height, slight but strong build, pale skin, pronounced cheek bones.  In a knee-jerk reaction, Harris slammed the door shut and just stood wide-eyed and open-mouthed, stunned.  After a few moments, there was hesitant knock on the door.  Alex snapped out of his daze, took a deep breath and re-opened the door.  

The figure on Harris' doorstep was still there but his expression had changed.  His head was tipped to the side; his brow was raised, questioning; and his posture slumped self-consciously.  "Ah... Guess I should've rung first."  

Harris couldn't help himself; he couldn't believe his eyes so he reached out a finger, slowly at first then swiftly he poked the ghost from his past --- hoping that a ghost really was what the figure would prove to be.

"Eh!" the visitor yelped.  "Whaddya do that for?"

"Spike?"  Harris was dumbfounded.

"Spike," John repeated quietly to himself, then louder, "Spike?"

The carpenter studied his visitor sceptically.  "You changed your hair," he noted somewhat snidely of the other man's golden brown waves.

"So you remember me?" the fairer man hoped.

Alex sighed.  "You're kinda hard to forget.  Believe me, I've tried."

John wasn't sure what to make of the other man's remark but he was anxious to know more.  "You mind if I come in?"  He moved to enter but the stocky figure shifted to block the entrance.

Harris didn't want to let Spike in.  He didn't want to open the door to the past by inviting a vampire into his home.  He'd left it all behind:  slayers and witches, demons and vampires, and "Xander", high school loser and demon magnet.  He was happy with the normalcy of his new life and didn't want that life destroyed.  "Hey, you may have been Mr. Nice Guy before, but how do I know you aren't up to your old tricks?" he asked with a steely glare.

"You tell me what my 'old tricks' were, I'll tell you if I'm up to 'em," John muttered.  

"Huh?"

"Look mate, I'm not lookin' for money or whatall.  Just a bit of information," John stated sincerely.

"What sort of information?"  Harris was both suspicious of and bewildered by his visitor.  He didn't want to give anything away; let Spike make the first move.

Looking the guy square in the eye, John asked, "Who am I?"  

***

"Buffy," Giles called softly after knocking on the door to Dawn's room, which she'd been sharing with her sister while Willow was staying in L.A.  "We're ready to go.  Are you coming?"

She'd been sitting on the lounge chair with her feet tucked up under her, watching the television when he came in, but on seeing him, Buffy sneered, "Coming where?"

The man gritted his teeth and cursed himself for his part in the recent tragedy.  "You know Wesley and the others planned a memorial-"

"Ha!  Since when do we mourn vampires," she scoffed.  "Giles, I've killed hundreds- no, thousands and we never stopped to give any of them a second thought."

"But-"

"But Angel had a soul?  He was on a mission of redemption?" she snapped back sarcastically, rising to her feet then going toward her former Watcher.  "Since when did that matter to you?  Spike had a soul; he was trying to be a better man.  That didn't stop you from helping Robin Wood try to kill him."  

Giles went again to speak, to explain, but Buffy kept on with her tirade.  

"And when he did die, none of us ever bothered to stop and say a few words about him.  Or raise a glass.  Or shed a tear."  The fragile heart paused.  "Now Angel..."  She swallowed hard and took a breath for strength.  "You never cared about Angel when he was alive, why pretend to care now?  Hypocrite."  The blonde turned her back then in a low bitter tone growled, "Get out."  

Giles stood disheartened realizing there was nothing more he could say in answer to her attack.

When she heard the door close behind him, the broken heart collapsed onto the bed sobbing into the pillow.

... Fourteen:  REMINISCE


	14. Reminisce

Fourteen:  REMINISCE 

Harris had been unwilling to let "Spike" into the house.  Although the guy seemed harmless enough --- oddly reserved and quiet but not in a sly manipulative sort of way --- the Sunnydale veteran knew it was best not to take too many chances when it came to inviting "people" into one's home.  As a compromise, Alex agreed to go for drinks at a local bar, so after telling his girlfriend that the visitor on their doorstep was an old friend having some personal problems that he didn't care to discuss in front of a stranger, he accompanied said "old friend" outside to where his truck was parked.  "So tell me, Spike," he said with considerable suspicion, "what kinda game are you playing?"

Outside the passenger's side of the pickup, John rested his elbows on the box rails and explained, "I dunno who I am.  Or at least I don't know who I was.  'bout seven months ago I woke up in hospital.  I don't remember anything from before that."

The carpenter climbed into his truck then leaned across and unlocked the passenger door.  As the other man boarded the vehicle, Harris was hit by the delayed reaction to what he'd said.  "What do you mean you 'woke up in a hospital'?"

Anxious and distracted by his own thoughts, John was oblivious to the carpenter's tone so he simply answered his question, "Apparently some old folks found me on the beach.  Dehydrated.  Sun-burned.  Barely alive."

Alex's eyes popped.  "Barely?"  He couldn't believe what he was thinking, but Harris had to know.  Quickly, he reached over to grab Spike's hand; it was warm.  Still holding the hand, gripping tightly and pulling it towards himself, Harris leaned over and put the fingers of his other hand to the man's neck.  A strong pulse!  "Holy shit, Spike!" Harris exclaimed.  "How did you do it?!"

More than a little edgy when his supposed-friend lunged for his throat, John jerked back and countered, "'fraid I'm not followin'."

"Whoa.  You really don't know what you were before, do you?"

***

When she finally felt she had no more tears to cry and her breathing had eased, Buffy crept to the bedroom door listening intently for sounds.  There were none; except for her, the apartment was empty.  She went to the bathroom and slipped from her dumpy clothes as she turned the taps to run a hot shower.  For a long time, she had the heat and pressure of the water ease her tense muscles while the humidity cleared her head.  When she felt she'd pulled herself together, Buffy climbed out, dried her body, wrapped a towel around her head and went to her room to find something to wear.  

After drying and fixing her hair and applying a little makeup, she emerged from the room dressed in a warm comfy turtle-necked sweater, cargo pants (into which she'd tucked a couple of stakes) and a pair of sensibly-heeled black boots.  From the front hall closet, she pulled a leather jacket and slid it on.  Standing in the foyer, she peeked in the mirror and found, looking back at her, the young woman she hadn't seen in months.

Judging herself ready, Buffy grabbed her keys and purse then headed down to the garage to get her car.

***

On the ride to the pub, John recounted what little he knew of his life concluding with his having seen the carpenter on television days earlier.  "So that's about it.  For all the time, the tryin'... I haven't gotten far.  Just flashes here and there.  Even police searches didn't turn anything up.  Nothing conclusive, anyway.   On the bright side:  I'm not a mass murderer or summat."  

At the declaration, Alex choked and hit the brakes.  

"Bloody hell!"  John slammed his hands on the dashboard as his seatbelt locked.

"Sorry.  I... ah... thought I saw a parking spot," he tried to cover for the jolt.  "So the police ran finger print checks?"

"Yeah.  Early on they got some partial matches," John explained.  "Turned out some of those unsolved cases were thirty years old and more.  I guess it's not all that uncommon to get false leads."

Harris chuckled uncomfortably suspecting the leads were far from false.  "Here we are."  He motioned to the building across the street.

Inside the bar, the pair found a corner table as far removed as possible from the rumble of the crowd and the flirtatious women to whom John appeared blind and that Harris knew Nicole wouldn't appreciate.  They shared a bit of idle chat about the place and flagged down a waitress to order a round of beer.  

After being served, John was in the midst of a swig when he noticed the darker-haired man staring at him.  As he lowered the bottle, he raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"Spike... ah... Sorry:  John," Harris corrected.  "This is gonna take some getting used to."

John was impatient.  He didn't much care what the other man called him so long as the guy had answers for his questions.  "S'alright mate, just tell me what you know."

"I just can't get over the fact that you're alive!" marvelled Harris, unable to look away from the familiar face across the table. 

"Yeah," John sighed unimpressed.  "You said that."

"Well, we thought you were dead," the other man explained.  "I mean actually dead.  Sunnydale got sucked into hell and we thought you went with it."

"'m not.  I didn't.  Look, I just-"

"You don't get it though:  you were.  You were dead- Undead."  Realizing he was getting a bit boisterous, Alex spoke more softly but maintained the animation of his expression, "Spike, you were a vampire." 

"Rrright then," John mumbled with disbelief.  That vampires existed didn't come as a complete shock - working nights, the parking lot attendant had seen some pretty peculiar things --- but the idea that he had actually been a vampire seemed unfathomable.  "That's quite a tale."

"But you were!  For a hundred something years, you were a bad guy.  Really bad," Harris insisted, "or so you said."

"S'ppose I was to believe you," John countered cautiously, "how can I be alive now?  And why didn't I ever bite you?" 

"Well, on the alive thing:  no idea. But the biting, you tried.  Lotsa times," the other man replied defensively, "but I was just- OK.  You didn't.  But that's only because most of the time you were in Sunnydale, you had a chip in your head."

"A chip?" 

"A computer chip," Alex specified, eliciting a shake of the head and another raised brow from the opposite side of the table.  "No, really.  An elite group of secret government military commando demon-hunters captured you and their scientists implanted you with a computer chip that zapped you with electricity if you tried to hurt people."

"But I don't 'ave anything in my head," John insisted pointing to it.  Somehow from the look on the other man's face, he knew Harris was going to make some kind of wise-crack, so John quickly clarified, "I've had scans and none of 'em showed anything but grey matter."

"Well, last spring you got it out.  It was breaking down and..." he trailed off.  Harris deduced that Spike really didn't know anything about his past including Buffy which put him in an awkward position.

"And what?" John urged.

"They took it out."

"If I was such a dangerous evil thing," the bewildered man countered, "why'd those government whats-its take it out?"

Harris was struggling around the Buffy-issue.  "Well, you changed.  You got a soul."

"You're off your nut, you are," the fairer man scoffed.  With a shake of his head, he took another gulp of his beer.  "If the vampire bit wasn't ridiculous enough... A vampire with a soul?!?  That's laughable."

"Yeah... well... I never put a whole lotta stock in it," the carpenter conceded.  "You blood suckers were all pretty much the same to me, but Bu-"  No.  Buffy was free of Spike; "John" seemed to have a decent life without the day-to-day danger and horror of demons and vampires that inevitably followed Buffy; and Xander hadn't kept in contact with his old friends.  They were all better off.  "But you helped save the world," he concluded.  "I don't really know what else I can tell ya.  I haven't been in touch with any of the gang in months.  Not since I moved up here," he stated truthfully.  "I had to get away from all that.  I started a new life."  He paused for a long draw of beer.  "You should probably just go back to your own."

***

Buffy stood in the courtyard of the Hyperion Hotel remembering the time she'd spent there with Angel.  Thinking of him refreshed the sting in her eyes.  Though she'd known they couldn't be together, she hadn't stopped loving him.

"Hey B," the voice startled Buffy from her reverie.  "Sorry.  Didn't mean to-"

"It's OK Faith."  Buffy brushed the tears from her cheek then turned to face her former foe.  "Why aren't you...?"  She motioned in the direction of the lobby where the others were gathered.

"Not really my thing.  Everybody cryin' and huggin' and telling lame stories."  Faith crossed her arms at her chest and shuffled her feet awkwardly.  "I mean, yeah, I'm kinda messed up about Angel being dead and all; he was really good to me.  But, I don't wanna hang out and whine about it.  Ya know?"  The dark Slayer glanced up and caught the sorrowful look on the other woman's face.  "Geez... I'm sorry Buffy.  Shit... I'm such an idiot, I-"

Buffy shook her head and strained a smile.  "No.  Faith, come on.  It's OK.  I don't want to hang out and whine about it either," she mimicked.  "I'm angry.  This shouldn't have happened."

"You're right.  But Buffy, it was an honest mistake," Faith stated sending chills up the fairer-haired woman's spine.  Noting her counterpart's visible shaking, she continued, "We've both done it, B:  gotten carried away.  Struck first; asked questions later."  Faith huffed and flopped down on a bench.  "Hell, I ended up in jail for it.  So shit happens.  There's nothin' we can do to change it.  We can just try to make a better future."  She stopped and thought for a moment.  "Man... that was lame."  

"Yeah."  Buffy went to sit beside her.  "But I get your point."  

Neither spoke for several minutes then Buffy piped up, "So... What have you been up to?"

"The usual:  slayin' and runnin' from the law --- until Wes got me off."  

Buffy quickly spun her head to look at the other woman warily.  

"Not like that, B," Faith said with a sly grin.  "His legal geniuses got me paroled."

The blonde turned her gaze to admire her boots.  Somewhat sheepishly she asked, "You've been keeping up with the slaying then?"

***

After a few beers, some snacks and more conversation, the two men went back to Harris' house.  "Do you mind waiting here?" Alex asked once they were inside.  "I'll go see if I can find that card."

John nodded, feeling a great sense of disappointment as the other man went up the stairs.  To say that what he'd learned about his life wasn't what he'd expected would be an understatement, but nothing he'd been told explained the flashes he'd had since even before he could remember first waking in hospital.  Maybe the woman in his dreams was just that:  a dream, or perhaps she was from a time before "Spike" had been in Sunnydale since Alex didn't seem to know anything about her.  

On the way home, Harris had thought of something that might help John discover more of the answers he sought, something he supposed was upstairs.  From the foyer, John could hear the low tones of the residents talking overhead and the sounds of someone rummaging through drawers and closets.  It seemed to take a long time before things went quiet and the dark-haired man appeared again on the stairs.

"Here."  Harris held out a small white card.  "This guy might be able to help you with more of your questions."  

John read the card.  "Angel Investigations.  Hey, um... I don't think I can afford a private investigator."

"Yeah, well he's not just a P.I.," Alex explained.  

"Oh?"

"He's... kind of an old friend of yours."  

John attempted to clarify, "Like you, you mean?"

Harris frowned.  "Well, no.  Not really.  You knew him before you came to Sunnydale."

John groaned.  "'e's a vampire.  You're sayin' we were friends as vampires."

"More like family actually."

"Right then," the traveller mumbled.  "S'ppose I should be off."  He held out a hand.  "Thanks for your help, Alex."

Harris shook the offered hand still amazed by the warmth of it.  "No problem.  And Spike... I hope you find some of the answers you're looking for.  Good luck."

... Fifteen:  REPUDIATE


	15. Repudiate

Fifteen:  REPUDIATE 

Buffy arrived in Reseda at the hotel where Giles and the Slayers had been staying.  She had the front desk clerk ring the Watcher's room then waited for him to pick up the phone.  "Giles, I'm not here to see you," Buffy said curtly.  "I'm taking charge of your Slayers."

"Is that so?" inquired the man warily.  

"It is.  I'd appreciate it if you'd get them together so I can speak to them."

"Buffy, please," Giles urged, "Come up to my room so we can talk."

"Fine," she grumbled before slamming down the receiver and marching off to the man's room.  

When she arrived, he was leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded across his chest.  Lips pursed, peering down at her over the rims of his glasses, Giles wordlessly motioned her inside then followed and closed the door.  

After crossing the room, the Slayer turned abruptly.  "So, what are you going to do now?" she asked as calmly as she could manage.  "What kind of disciplinary action are you going to take against these girls?"

"'m sorry?" Giles replied, bewildered by the question.

"They killed an innocent man," she explained.  "More than that, he was on our side!  Fighting evil.  You remember evil, don't you Giles?"  Without allowing him time to respond, Buffy demanded, "So what are you going to do about it?  Investigate?  Have a hearing?  Put them on some sort of lame probation?  What about rehab?  'cause that worked so well with Faith," scoffed Buffy.

Attempting to maintain his composure, the Brit began, "Now Buffy, I realize that you're angry and upset about Angel, but-"

"But what?" she barked.  From her perspective, the man was making light of Angel's death.  Just hearing Giles say his name infuriated her.  "He's gone because I listened to you!  I trusted you.  I did what you wanted:  I let you train those new Slayers; I stayed away so you could see how they'd do on their own.  If I'd been there that night with that Beast of Alibi-"

"Amalfi," Giles muttered.

"Huh?"  Seeing the man roll his eyes and gesture for her to continue, Buffy shrugged off the interruption.  "If I'd been there, I could have stopped them - explained that not all demons are evil.  Like you should have done." 

The Watcher stood stoned face.  "But Buffy, most of them are.  Those girls made a completely understandable judgement."

"'Completely understandable judgement'!?  I don't believe this.  Now you're telling me that all demons are evil?  No, wait.  You're saying that it doesn't matter if innocent people get killed along the way so long as the good guys come out on top.  Is that what you taught me?"  Then it occurred to her:  that was what he'd tried to teach her.  Dawn, Spike,   Now Angel:  all expendable for the greater good.  "I thought this Council was supposed to be different.  Different from the one I turned my back on because they wouldn't help me.  Different from the one that was happy to let Angel die from that poisoned arrow because it wasn't 'Council policy to cure vampires'.  You remember that, right Giles?" the Slayer snarled.  "I thought this Council, the one you formed, was supposed to be updated.  More... moderate.  Understanding that some demons are good - especially the ones that helps us.  Even if they are vampires.  Angel had a soul, dammit!"

"That's your answer to everything," the Watcher noted brusquely.  "He had a soul so he was perfectly harmless.  Meanwhile you two were-"

"That's it, isn't it?  Me and Angel?  This has nothing to do with me being with Angel.  Or it shouldn't at least because I wasn't.  Not anymore!"  She glared at Giles.  "I knew you didn't care that he was gone.  You and Robin had your little plan to kill Spike for my own 'good'.  Of course Angel would be next!  You've never liked him; never trusted him.  You can't forget...  You couldn't forgive Angel for what Angelus did to you or to Jenny!"

"He was Angelus!" the man exploded.  "No matter how much you wanted to deny it, he wasn't a man; he was a demon!  Soul be damned; he was still a demon, and p'rhaps not so deep down as you'd like to think!  Those Slayers," he stressed, "did what Vampire Slayers do!  They killed a vampire."

Enraged, the Slayer lunged at Giles shoving him hard out of her way.  "Since you aren't going to do the right thing, I will," Buffy growled before throwing open the door, lodging the knob into the wall as she made her exit.

***

Before catching the Greyhound back to Santa Barbara, John picked up some drinks, snacks, a few pens and a notebook.  His journey of discovery had really begun and since his trip home would take days, John decided to spend some of that time recording what he'd learned from his conversation with Alex Harris, as well as what he could recall of the brief and mysterious images that seemed to pass inexplicably through his mind.  Once he was settled on the bus, John uncapped a pen and opened the book.

As he made notes about "Spike" and Slayers, and saving the world, the pensive man realized he should write down the questions he still had, so that he'd be better able to direct conversation when he renewed other acquaintances.  When he'd arrived in Oregon, John had been entirely unprepared for what he would learn.  He went with no solid evidence as to who Alex Harris had been to him; all John had was the inkling that he'd once known the man.  But Harris had pointed him in a specific direction.  Though he still had no idea as to the identity of the woman in his dreams, John had a potential link to a "family".  Spike's family.  He pulled the business card from his pocket.  "Angel":  an odd name for a vampire, John thought.  Certainly "Spike" seemed more fear-worthy, and something in his gut told him they weren't exactly the best of mates.  Odder still seemed the slogan "We help the helpless".  Maybe all vampires weren't evil - not like he'd been.  Maybe it was Angel's desire to go against his nature and help people that caused the falling out between him and Spike.  Regardless, the vampire had to know more about Spike than the carpenter had told him.  In retrospect, John wondered whether it was more an unwillingness in Harris to elaborate than a lack of knowledge which left so many of John's questions about his past unanswered.  Considering what he had learned and the fact that this other guy was a vampire, John wasn't sure if he even wanted to know what Angel might have to tell.  

For a moment he glanced up from his paper and stared out the window, still reflecting on his trip.  When he looked back at the questions he'd written, he was momentarily overwhelmed by frustration and fear.  Reactively, John tore the page from the notebook, crumpled it then stuffed the paper-ball into his duffle-bag.  How could he ask these questions?  How could he believe that he'd been a vampire?  It made him sick to think of the number of people he might have killed.  With a shake of his head, he huffed at what he'd believed before meeting Harris, "'m not a mass murderer."  Maybe Harris was right and he was better off with his new life.  Better off as John Smith, parking attendant and security guard than he'd been as Spike, blood-sucking fiend.

***

"OK people, gather round," ordered Buffy.  

She'd come across one of the Slayers in the hall near Giles room and the girl had informed Buffy that most of her colleagues were in the hotel workout room.  The other girls looked over to where she stood.  Some moved apprehensively toward her; others hung back.  

"Come on!  Now!"

Sandy, the boldest of the group stepped up and sneered, "We don't take orders from you."

A couple of other girls went to stand with their friend to show their support.  "Yeah, who the hell are you?"

"I'm Buffy," she replied, nonplussed by the fact that these girls didn't recognize her on sight.

"Oh yeah!  We've heard of you," the daring new Slayer said contemptuously.  Turning to the others, she announced, "This is Buffy, the Vampire Layer!"  Several of the other Slayers laughed, encouraging Sandy to continue her jibes.  "Aw... poor widdle Buffy."  She wiggled her lips with her finger.  "We dusted your boyfriend."

Something in Buffy's mind snapped.  Furiously, she flew at the smart-mouthed girl who stumbled backward over a chair.  Together, the two Slayers crashed down on the exercise mat, narrowly missing the stack of weight bars.  With the element of surprise in her favour, the slighter Slayer was on top of the other girl pummelling her face and pounding her head against the mat.  "How.  Dare.  You!"  

Before long, however, the larger younger woman had turned the table on her attacker and had Buffy pinned firmly beneath her knees to the mat.  "I guess somewhere along the way you missed the job description," Sandy mocked as she punched Buffy in the face.  First with her right fist.  "Vampires."  Then with her left.  "Demons."  Then her right again.  "We're supposed to kill them.  It's not supposed to matter if they're hot.  They're not human!"  

The two struggled and squirmed, shifting the point of power went back and forth until-

"Dirimo!" Willow shrieked, freezing the group where they were.  "What the hell is going on down here!?"  The witch marched over to the tangle of hostile Slayers.  As she motioned with her hands, most of the group shook off the spell but the fighters were only separated, still unable to move under their own power.  With the pair parted, Willow and the others could see their bloodied faces.  "Buffy... What are you doing?"

***

_"Spike!__  Listen to me.  You don't want to do this."_

_In an instant they were upon her:  disfigured faces, long sharp teeth.  Vampires.  She was struggling.  Fighting.  But now they had her._

_"They're waiting for you.  Take her.  Taste her.  Make her weak."  They were holding her for him._

_"Spike!__  No!"_

_He stepped toward her.  The smell of her fear and her blood filling his senses.  Calling to the demon inside him.  He leaned into her throat, baring his teeth-_

John shuddered and gasped, grabbing the armrests of his seat.  He was breathing hard and in a cold sweat.  His heart was racing and his vision was blurred.  When he'd reoriented himself, the traveler realized he'd been dreaming again.  Of that same woman.  Now he knew when she said "Spike", she was speaking to him.  And now he knew he'd killed her.  With a hand on his mouth, the other on his stomach, he groaned, nauseated at the thought of what he'd done.  In the dimly lit bus, he leaned against the window with tears in his eyes and stared out into the bleak darkness of the night.

***

Willow escorted Buffy to the pool's locker room to address her injuries while insisting the other girl go to her room to clean up.  

Grimacing at the sight of herself, Buffy grabbed some tissues to blot away the blood from her lip and cheek while her friend jumped up to sit on the counter with her fingers curled around the edge.  

"You couldn't stay away, huh?" the witched asked.

"What?"  Buffy glanced to her friend.

"You came looking for vengeance.  Sandy killed Angel and you-"

"What?!"

Willow bit her tongue.  "Hey, wait.  I didn't mean that.  It's just she was part of the group that... Buffy, I understand your anger.  Of all people, I have to understand."  

Though she wasn't saying so, the blond was well aware her friend was thinking of Tara and of the rampage on which "Darth Rosenberg" had gone after her lover had been murdered.  

"But Buffy, I know what happens when you go too far.  I know what it's like to kill someone out of anger.  It's not a good feeling.  It's not one I want you to know."  Willow wasn't sure whether the Slayer was even listening as she rinsed her mouth, spitting out bloody water.  Still the red-head persisted, "Buffy?  You're still going to come back with us to England, right?"

Buffy shook her head.  "Will, I can't."  Through her teeth she gritted, "I'm not going anywhere with Giles.  I can't stand the sight of him and-"  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath as she raised her hand to her temple.  "Just the sound of his voice..."  The angry woman looked to her friend.  "Really Will, I don't think I can be held accountable for my actions around him."

"Stay with me," the witch insisted.  "Some time with the Coven could do you some good.  It's a safe supportive environment; lots of positive energy.  I really think you need some time away.  From L.A.  From California.  A complete change of scenery would do you a lot of good."

Buffy rolled her eyes and grumbled, "Yeah... whatever."

Willow put her hand on her friend's shoulder, drawing Buffy's full attention.  "Really Buffy.  I think you need to get away from here.  And the Coven... It's a great place for reflection... and for healing.  Please Buffy, come back with me."

... Sixteen:  RETREAT


	16. Retreat

Sixteen:  RETREAT 

Willow had convinced Buffy to accompany her back to England provided she didn't have to sit anywhere near Giles or any Slayers who might be returning with him.  But Dawn didn't share Buffy's distain for the man nor did they feel the same way about Angel's death.  In spite of the sympathy her sister had shown, Buffy was aware that the teen disliked Angel --- she had long before Buffy and the vampire had re-established their relationship --- and suspected Dawn was relieved that he was gone.  Throughout the flight, the younger woman constantly moved back and forth between her sister and her mentor, aggravating the senior Summers and making it impossible for her to rest.  By the time the plane touched down at Heathrow Airport, Buffy was exhausted.  

"We'll catch the Express to Paddington Station," Willow said as they collected their bags.  "Want me to get you a souvenir bear?" she asked, gleefully doing a little dance.

"Huh?"

"Never mind."  The witch frowned.  "It'll be a little over an hour after that on the train to Westbury.  I'll call ahead when we're on board to have someone pick us up.  OK?"  

"Sure.  Whatever," Buffy yawned.  "Dawn, are you sure you'll be OK if I go with Willow?"

Her sister smiled compassionately.  "Of course.  Are you sure you don't mind me staying with- um... staying in the city?"

Buffy wasn't thrilled by her sister's desire to spend the bulk of her time in England with the man she saw as responsible for the death of her beloved Angel.  She knew Dawn wanted to continue with her Watcher training and that the Council office was where Dawn yearned to be, so the fair-haired sister tried to put aside her own misgivings and mistrust of the organization.  "You go ahead.  Have a good time."  She gave her sister a hug.  "Merry Christmas."  

Then the younger girl hurried off to join the rest of the group shuttling to the Council flats.  Turning several dozen meters away, she gave a final wave then was lost in the crowd. 

"Are you ready to go?" Willow asked.

***

John had arrived home from his Oregon trip tired, dejected and fully intent on doing as Alex Harris had advised:  getting on with his life and forgetting about "Spike".  It wasn't an easy task; he spent much of his day-light hours lying awake, not wanting to sleep lest he should dream.  Nights were harder.  Alone.  In the shadows of the lot, his mind wandered; the attendant was now all too aware that demons roamed the Earth and likely his Santa Barbara streets were not without those dangers.  Every time he approached someone on his rounds, he feared coming face-to-fang with a vampire.  When the person turned out to be someone who'd worked late or was sneaking home in the wee hours from a date, or some poor home-less soul just looking for a safe place to sleep, he felt a great sense of relief and made a mental note to seriously consider finding a new job in the coming year.  

John wondered how he'd managed to be so lucky as to never have confronted a genuine creature-of-the-night then it hit him:  he almost had!  That couple he'd caught snogging on the lot months earlier:  the woman who mysteriously disappeared must have been a vampire!  She hadn't been kissing the bloke's neck; she'd been feeding from him.  Blood-loss would explain that guy's dizziness.  The girl that rescued him must have been a Slayer.  

Back at his booth, John grabbed his duffle, pulled out the notebook and jotted down his memories of that night.  "So it wasn't the girl," he remarked of his recognition, "it was the situation."  How many times had he found himself up against some young Slayer?  How many had he killed?  Harris said Spike had been a vampire for more than one hundred years.  He must have killed a lot of people:  killed to feed; killed to survive; killed for fun.  The man swallowed hard as the sick sense of bile rose up in his throat.   

But Harris said in the end, Spike wasn't an evil creature:  he had helped to save the world; he had a soul.  "Sod it!"  Why hadn't John asked more about the soul?  How does a vampire go about getting one?  Why on earth would a vampire want a soul?  Perhaps it hadn't been his choice.  Had the soul, like the government computer chip, been forced upon him?  "What kinda mug does 'e take me for?  What a lot of codswallop!  Me:  a vampire with a soul saving the world."  Exasperated, John stuffed the notebook back into his bag then stepped out to clear his head with some fresh air and a brisk patrol.   

***

A fatigued and grumpy Giles stomped into the Council's main offices.  The trip had been emotionally taxing on the man, who'd been driven even further from Buffy and from other potential allies in the relatively short time he'd been abroad.  With over-extended funds and now likely more limited contacts on which he could depend, the new Watchers' Council Chief was quickly reaching the end of his tether.  

As he turned down the hall to his office, Andrew appeared from the photocopy-room.  "Welcome back, Mr. Giles," his assistant greeted politely as he stepped in front of a trolley full of copies, blocking them from the other man's view.  "Did you have good trip?"

"It was fine.  The Slayers were successful," he grumbled in reply, hardly acknowledging the young man who followed to his office.  Dropping onto his desk chair, Giles stared at the stack of documents in his in-box.  With a heavy exhale, he shook his head and removed his glasses.

"Oh, Mr. Giles, leave those," Andrew said as he rushed in and scooped up the stack.  "I'll go through them again and sort them for you.  You really should go home and get some rest.  Take the rest of the week off.  It's Christmas after all."

The Watcher sighed heavily and looked to his assistant.  "Is there anything pressing?"  

"Well, um..."  Andrew was nervous; he knew the stack contained several reports from Slayer coordinators and reconnaissance teams around the world but there wasn't anything the older man would be able to do.  "Nothing that can't wait until Monday."

Giles had arrived discouraged and didn't require a great deal of coaxing to collect his bags and go home.  "Right then.  I'm off."  

"Um... Mr. Giles?"

Stopping half way down the hall, the tall man huffed and turned.  "What is it Andrew?"

"Would you like to come to my place for Christmas dinner?" he asked.  "It won't be anything special, but..."

Giles smiled and nodded.  "Thanks lad."

***

"It's only a small room," cautioned Beatrice, a member of the Coven who'd met the travelers at the gate.  After opening the creaky wooden door and switching on the light, she stepped aside encouraging the visitor to enter.

"The guest rooms all are.  Even the residents' quarters aren't much bigger," Willow explained hoping to ease her friend's mind.

"This is great," Buffy assured feebly.  "It's got a bed and that's pretty much all I need except..."

"W.C. is on the right at the end of the hall," the greying witch noted, gesturing with one hand to indicate the direction as she strode into the room to set Buffy's carry-on bag atop the low chest of drawers at the foot of the bed.  "And the shower room is on the left."

"W.C.?"

Willow grinned.  "You'll figure it out."

"Is there anything else you need?" Bea inquired gently.

Buffy shook her head.  

"If you think of anything, there are many people about to help."

"Oh yeah Buffy.  Everyone here is terrific.  So don't be shy," insisted Willow.

As the other two women left, Buffy closed the door.  Leaning her back against it, she scanned her temporary quarters.  

The room was, as the witches had noted, tiny:  only about seven feet wide and ten feet deep.  Against one wall at the far end of the room stood a narrow iron-framed bed dressed in a fluffy duvet.  Beside it and below the room's small leaded glass window, was a fragile looking wooden table with a reading lamp and a single drawer.  On the long wall opposite the bed was a sink above which hung a weathered mirror and a small shelf.  Just inside the door was an old painted armoire which Buffy opened and found several metal hangers, a woolly blanket that looked to be the ichiest thing she'd ever seen, and a little bundle of towels.  

Buffy pulled out the smaller towel and a facecloth then went to get her toiletry bag from her suitcase before going to the sink.  Staring blindly into the scratched mirror, Buffy brushed her teeth, washed her face, and stroked her hair a few times with a brush.  She stripped off her clothes and pulled on some warm pajamas and a sweatshirt.  Casually, she flipped off the light then felt her way through the shadowy room to the bed into which she climbed.  Snuggling down under the feather bedding, Buffy closed her eyes.  Exhausted, she drifted off to sleep.

***

When the lot attendant returned to his little home, he found another basket of goodies on his doorstep along with a note inviting him to Christmas dinner:  "We'll eat early.  Mr. Clement can't have a heavy meal late."  

John had meant to buy gifts for his landlords, he just hadn't yet had the motivation.  After a nap, a quick shower and some sticky buns and tea, John set off to get the last minute gifts for the people in his life.  

Though it was still early in the day, the mall was already crowded with cranky holiday shoppers.  As people pushed and grabbed and grumbled their way through the shops, John wished he'd picked up some suitable souvenirs when he'd been in Oregon so he could have avoided the chaos.  After a few stops, he relaxed a little, having found gifts for two of the three people on his list:  a wooden box of special teas for his landlady and a golfing book for her husband.  It wasn't much but he hoped they'd like the gifts.  For Jude, he struggled more.  She'd been so good to him and now he thought maybe... Maybe he was ready to see her as more than just a friend.  Pondering an appropriate gift, he was drawn to the window of a women's clothing store in which stood a mannequin in a white turtle-necked sweater.  "That's it," he decided before going inside the shop.  

The sweater proved more expensive than he thought, but John figured he could forgo some beer and whatnot over in the coming weeks.  It was for Jude; she deserved something extra special after all she'd done for him over the better part of the past year.  

***

"Carrie, what the hell are you doing?" a blond teen growled as she grabbed the other girl's arm.

"Steph," the leather-jacketed brunette sneered, shaking off the blonde's hand.  "What's it to you?"

"Bullying kids at school?  Stealing?  That's not what we're supposed to be doing," Stephanie insisted as the other younger girl rolled her eyes.  Trying to keep her voice low even amongst the noise of the crowd, she stated, "You're a Slayer!  You're supposed to be keeping a low profile and harassing demons, not senior citizens."

"Yeah, whatever."  Carrie turned to walk away.  "I do what I-"  The sight of a familiar face standing at the gift wrapping counter stopped her dead in her tracks.  "Shit!"

"What is it?" the blonde asked glancing around on alert.  "Mall security?"

"That guy."  The other girl nodded in the man's direction.  "Pale guy with the cheekbones."  

Stephanie followed the other Slayer's sight line.  "Shit!"

"What?"  

"We gotta get out of here," she urged as she nudged the other girl.

Carrie was confused.  "Hey, I know I gotta get outta here.  But why do you?"

***

They were staring at him.  Two of them:  the little thief that had run into him at the convenience store and the Slayer he'd met on the lot that one night.  Staring!  Inexplicably, John felt the urge to run.  Pivoting on his heel, the man searched for the nearest exit.

"Sir?  Sir!"  

As a hand reached out to touch his arm, he jumped and spun back around with terror-filled wide eyes.  

"Sorry.  Um..."  The wrapper half-smiled, holding up two brightly coloured cards.  "Did you want a gift tag with that?"  

With a nervous shake of his head, John snatched the package then made a quick escape.

... Seventeen:  RECOIL


	17. Recoil

Seventeen:  RECOIL 

Hurrying from the mall clutching the gift box to his chest and white-knuckling his shopping bags, John repeatedly shot back glances over his shoulder.  Were they behind him?  His heart was racing.  His chest was tight.  He felt as though he couldn't breathe.  Everything around him seemed a blur until suddenly a braking car screeched to a halt narrowly missing hitting the frantic man.  

"Hey!  Watch where you're goin'!" yelled the driver with a fist in the air.

Startled from his panicked daze, John shook himself as he stepped back onto the curb.  Looking around, the man found he'd gone several blocks past his bus stop without even realizing.  "What the bloody hell am I doing?" he grumbled to himself.  "Grown man running off like some nancy from a pair of little girls."  He chuckled and shook his head, taking some deep soothing breaths as he sauntered to the next stop.  

While he stood waiting, a group of teenagers approached.  Some guys, some girls, all laughing and playing around until they seemed to suddenly grow quiet as they passed.  Were they looking at him?  

"Don't be daft."  He shrugged off the feeling as the bus pulled up.  When he boarded, he smiled politely at the driver who seemed to give him an odd look, making him uncomfortable and quickly washing the smile from his face.  Disheartened, he found a seat and piled his purchases on his lap.

As the bus began to move, John's mind wandered back to the mall.  Why had those two girls been staring at him?  Why was the Slayer with that thief?  Was she a Slayer too?  And if she was, was it merely coincidence that he'd run into both girls before?  Or that they happened to be that particular mall at the same time as he was?  They had been staring.  At him.  They appeared suspicious.  Nervous?  They knew he'd seen them.  Knew he recognized them.  Had they been following him?  Spying on him?  Were they part of this secret government operation?  He'd been a mass murderer.  Were they suspicious that he might kill again?  Were the girls afraid their cover had been blown?  

Panicked again, his eyes darted around the bus.  There was a man with two little girls; they were staring at him.  A woman with a hat:  staring.  A teenager in a fast-food uniform: staring.  The bus driver in the rear-view mirror:  staring.  He had to get off the bus!  He leaped to his feet and yanked the bell cord.  Hard.  Hugging his purchases to his chest, he rushed to the rear exit of the bus.  Stamping his feet, he pulled the cord again and again.  Nothing was happening.  He was only becoming more and more agitated, convinced that every woman on the bus was a government spy sent to keep an eye on him, to make sure he stuck to the straight and narrow.  Until finally...

The bus stopped and he jumped off scurrying to the alley-side of a nearby building.  As he leaned against the brick, the shattered man slid down to sit on his heels.  What would he do now?  What should he do?  He couldn't stay in the alley.  He didn't want to go back to his empty flat where his mind would only fabricate more ludicrous ideas.  His composure regained, he reached over to pick up the box he'd dropped and decided to deliver Judith's gift.  

***

After Giles left, Andrew returned to the copy-room, collected his cart then pushed it down the hall to the meeting room.  

The room was a testament to the hard work the young man had put in over the time he'd been working with the Council, particularly in the weeks that Giles was away from the office.  On the wall, he'd affixed a series of maps:  one that indicated the homes of the known Slayers who's survived Sunnydale; the second was a preliminary survey of the Earth when they'd begun to re-establish the Council; two others were done two and four months later; the fifth was essentially current; and a sixth projected the state of the world at an uncertain moment in the future, based on the Coven's foresight.  At first glance, the information presented on the maps appeared encouraging - there was a marked decrease in demon activity in more populated parts of the world - but the information packets Andrew had been preparing told a rather different story.  One which the man feared would have a profoundly negative effect on the Council, particularly those members most important to him.

When he'd arranged the documents, confirmed that the over-head projector worked and that his films were in the correct order, and cleaned his white boards in anticipation of the possible notes and diagrams he'd have to make during his presentation, Andrew took one last look at the room before securely locking the doors then returning home for the long weekend.

***

"Hey Joe," John greeted the doorman.  "Jude about?"

"She oughtta be.  Working nights this week," the man replied as he buzzed John in.  "Been shoppin' I see.  Anything for me?" he teased, though his tone had eluded John.

"Ah... sorry Joe.  I... ah..."

The doorman chuckled as he walked over and slapped the bewildered visitor affectionately on the back.  "Not to worry, John.  I'm sure you'll be back," he said with a sly wink.  "Judith's a lovely girl."

"She is," John agreed.  "Well, cheers mate."  He nodded his head and wandered up to his friend's condominium unit.  Along the way, he considered the doorman's words:  Judith is a lovely girl.  And John believed that:  she'd been such an immense help to him since he'd awoken in the hospital - and he didn't doubt her care had extended prior to his revival.  She'd helped him find a place to live and a job.  She'd encouraged him to find out more about himself.  Yes, Jude was a lovely girl indeed.

Contentedly, he rang her doorbell.  Yes, lovely.  But he wasn't lovely:  he'd been a mass murderer; evil; a demon.  Why had that thought suddenly leapt into his head?  What if she was in danger?  No!  He'd never hurt her.  But what about these government spies?  They had to know she was his friend.  What if they were to kidnap her and interrogate her?  Stick tracking devices in her.  Bug her phone.  

The door opened and John gasped, simply startled from his thoughts.

"Oh John, hi," Jude greeted with a warm smile.  "What brings you by?"

Nervously, the man looked around.  "Brought you this," he replied holding up the slightly squashed and weathered package.  "Looked a lot nicer before I... ah..."

"It's beautiful," she assured.  "Would you like to come in?"

"No, I... I shouldn't."

Jude set the gift down just inside her door then stepped out and took John's arm.  "Please.  I insist," she encouraged, nudging him toward the door but he wouldn't budge.  "Hey, come on.  I won't bite."

Bells started going off in his head.  Bite?!  She knew.  "You're in on it, aren't you?!"  She had to know that he'd been a vampire, that he was being watched by the government, that he was part of some sort of demon rehabilitation program.  He grabbed her by the arms and accused, "You know all about it!"  Shaking her, he pleaded, "Why are they doing this to me?!"

"John... please.  You're scaring me."  Jude struggled to free herself from his grasp.  "You're hurting me!  Ow... John, stop it. What are you doing?!"

_He held her.  Together they struggled.  Fear and bewilderment filled her eyes.  He grabbed at her clothes.  She stumbled back and fell to the floor, groaning in agony._

_"Spike no!  Stop... stop!"_

Wide-eyed, he cried out, "No!  Oh God... I didn't... Not again... I..."  Without looking back, John ran.

Judith stood somewhat shaken in the doorway.  She wasn't sure whether to go after her friend or to rush inside, bolt the door and count her blessings that he'd not done her any injury.  As a nurse, she'd seen what harm people in John's apparent state could do to others and to themselves.  Though she'd never known John to be violent, she'd seen him disoriented and distraught after he'd had some memory flash through his head and her awareness of his fragility in those moments, coupled with the fact he'd be out in the street alone, had Judith worried.  She picked up the phone and buzzed the doorman.  "Joe?"

"Yes, Ms. Sanders?  How can I-"

Having no time, Judith interrupted, "Have you seen John?"

"A while ago," the man confirmed, "On his way up-"

"But he hasn't been back yet?"

"No," Joe stated.  "Was there-"

"If you see him, please don't let him leave," the nurse urged.  "I'm coming down."

"Sure thing."

She quickly hung up and raced out the door.

In the stairwell, she found him huddled with his knees tucked up to his chest and his hands clutching his head; he hadn't gotten far.  Cautiously, the nurse approached the crouched figure.  "John," she cooed softly.  

He stiffened and raised a hand.  "Stay away from me!" he choked.  "I'm dangerous."  Then, as he lowered his hand back to his head, in a soft sob he added, "I'm a bad man.  Bad.  Bad man."

"John," Jude repeated.  "It's OK.  I'm not going to hurt you."  As he jerked, she knew he was about to speak again but didn't give him a chance.  "And I know you're not going to hurt me.  It's OK."  She knelt down on the step in front of him and set her hands atop his, curling her fingers under his palms to pry his hands from his head.  "It's OK.  Easy now.  You're alright."  

"Jude..."  He looked to her with shame and fear in his eyes.  "I'm... sorry about that bit... before."

"I know."  She smiled compassionately.  "Come back upstairs with me.  Just for a few minutes," Judith tried to convince.  

"No.  Jude, I should get home.  I've gotta get some sleep before work."  Holding the railing, John pulled himself up.  

"Give me couple of minutes to get my purse; I'll drive you," she said as she climbed a couple of steps.

Her friend shook his head.  "Don't want to put you out."

"Fine, but I want you to call me when you're home," she insisted, then more softly she added, "John, please... I worry about you."

He shuffled his feet awkwardly for a moment then agreed to do as she'd asked.  As she was about to turn to go upstairs, he leaned toward her and pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek.  "Happy Christmas, Jude."  Then shyly he stepped back and started down the stairs.  

"Don't forget:  I expect a call," she noted.  John would be alright, she decided, he just needed some time to himself.

Back at her apartment, as she closed the door, Judith raised a hand to her cheek, savouring the memory of his lips against it then she noticed the gift John had brought her.  Though a little the worse for wear, it was elegantly wrapped with deep green holly paper and a pretty red bow.  As she picked it up, she gave the box a slight shake.  It didn't rattle but whatever it was shifted inside the package, giving the slight crunch of tissue paper as it hit the edge.  The curious woman couldn't wait; she had to know what he'd gotten her.  Besides it was almost Christmas and the nurse would be working on the actual day, so she carried the package to the couch and sat down.  Carefully at first, she peeled back the corner of the wrap and peeked inside:  just a plain gift box.  She tore the paper off and pulled off the lid then unfolded the tissue paper.  Jude gasped in surprise at the sight of the beautiful sweater.  It was soft; the knit, fine.  Such a thoughtful gift; Judith was taken aback by her friend's generosity.  

Her friend?  That's what John was, but the sweater seemed too elaborate to be from a "friend"; too personal to be from someone who'd refused her advances.  Had his feelings for her changed?  He had just kissed her but she hadn't read too much into that.  She didn't want to hope.  Quickly she slipped on the gift and looked in the mirror.  Though stunning, the sweater wasn't really her.  Was it something that "she" would have liked?  This woman from his past.  What had John learned while he was away?  Was that why he'd acted so strangely earlier?  

"Aaahhh," she growled.  "I don't have time for this!"  She pulled off the sweater, tucked it back in the box and went to have a shower.

... Eighteen:  RECONSTRUCT


	18. Reconstruct

Eighteen:  RECONSTRUCT 

After a brief chat with Joe the doorman about how women have a tendency to overreact to things, John wandered out to catch his bus.  

As he boarded, the bus driver welcomed him with a smile.  "Happy holidays."  

John returned the greeting then found a seat.  Fretfully scanning the other passengers, he noticed that everyone appeared perfectly "normal".  There was a woman reading a Christmas card to another sitting beside her; some teenagers were comparing wish lists; and there were people with their eyes turned to the floor or looking out the window.  All seemed as it should.  No one paid him much mind when he boarded, neither while he sat nor when he disembarked.  As the bus pulled away from the curb and John started to walk to few blocks to his flat, the man felt at ease.  

With a quick glance at his watch and some mental calculation, he figured he'd still have time for a few hours sleep before work.  As he looked up, he noticed a young woman standing at the end of the driveway of the Clements' house.  She was rummaging in her purse.  Just seeing the girl had John instantly on edge.  What was she doing in front of his landlords' house?  In front of his home!?  No time to stop and think about it!  He bolted hoping she wouldn't notice him before he made it to the corner and out of sight.

His pace slowed when he hit the main street --- didn't want to draw any undue attention.  What would he do?  He couldn't go home --- not now with that spy out front.  But he had to call Jude; she'd be worried if he didn't.  She might come looking for him.  She could be in danger if she did!  He had to call!

***

Buffy awoke well-rested but disoriented.  When she nervously scrambled to flick on the bedside lamp, she knocked the table and something rattled.  Curious, she tossed off the duvet and climbed out of bed to examine the contents of the table-drawer.  Inside she found a glass tea light holder, a box of matches and two crystals (one a smoky-white, the other, a deep blue) and one green tumbled stone.  "At least it isn't chickens feet or rats eyes," Buffy muttered.  

Feeling a bit stiff from travelling and the strange bed, she tipped her head from one side to the other, loosening her neck muscles.  Then she dipped low, bending at the waist to stretch her legs and back.  After lifting herself back up and raising her arms overhead to stretch them and her shoulders, she winced, "I need a shower."  

Before her nap, Buffy had been too tired to think of anything but sleep so although the trip had been long, she'd turned in without having done more than a little freshening up by washing off her makeup and brushing her teeth.  Now, having slept, the young woman was all too aware of her own presence and the clamminess of her skin.  Going to her suitcase, Buffy chose some comfy clothes into which to change then went down the hall to the showers.

***

The phone was ringing when she switched off her blow-dryer.  "Oh!  John," she said out loud anticipating the caller as she hurried to the phone.  "Hello?"

"Jude.  I'm home.  No need to worry," he assured, trying not to let too much of his embarrassment over his behaviour earlier show.

"I'm glad."  With so many questions running through her head, Judith couldn't think what more to say.

Uncomfortable with the silence on the line and not wanting to stay too long where he was, John interjected, "Well, I'm gonna try and catch a few winks before work."

"John!" Jude blurted, hoping he'd not gone to put down the phone.

"Yeah?"

"Are you alright?"

"Sure," he replied.

"No, I mean really.  You haven't seemed yourself since you came back from Oregon."  Apprehensively she asked, "Did you learn anything from that carpenter guy?"  

Now it was John who was quiet.  

Her mention of his trip had him ill-at-ease and in no way encouraged the man in the conversation, so Jude had to break the silence.  "John?"

"Still 'ere," he said sombrely.  After a few more wordless moments, the man spoke, "Jude..."  He swallowed hard.  "Harris, that's the bloke's name, 'e gave me a business card... for a guy who knew me a long time.  Said 'e was almost like family."

"Does he live in Oregon?"

"No.  Turns out Harris moved up there after Sunnydale was destroyed."

"Oh!" she exclaimed.  "You mean you used to live in Sunnydale?!  Were you there up until the end?  Or had you moved before that?"

John sighed.  Yes, he'd apparently been there right to the end --- helped save the world from being overrun by evil blood-sucking demons and whatnot before being swallowed up by Hell --- but he couldn't tell her that.  "I guess I was there pretty much to the end."

"Wow..."  She briefly pondered the magnitude of such a story before remembering how they got off on this tangent.  "But what about this other guy?  Business-card guy?"

"Yeah... ah... Guess 'e's some kind of private detective.  Lives in Los Angeles."

"And he knew you before you moved to Sunnydale."

"Yeah..."

"Will you go see him, John?" she inquired hopefully as she sat down, prepared to listen intently to his reply.  "Oh!  Did Harris know your name?  Should I call you something else now?"

John was still quite uncertain about his interest in pursuing his past any further but he knew he didn't care to share what he had learned.  "I dunno."  He wanted to convince his friend that he was content so he said, "Jude, I've got a pretty good life here.  Got a job.  Nice place to live.  A few good friends."  He paused a moment, then added, "And I've got-"

"John, where are you?" she interrupted brusquely after looking at her caller I.D. which indicated the call came from a pay-phone.  When she'd first picked up, Judith assumed John was calling, so it hadn't occurred to her to look.  Now, after only habitually glancing at the box, she made the realization.  "You're not calling from home."

How did she know?  Did the spies tell her?  "Call display, you stupid git," he mumbled to himself.

"What?"  Though she knew he'd said something, she couldn't make out what.  "John?  Is someone there with you?"  

But was it just her Caller I.D.?  Or had that girl rung the base and reported to her superiors that her cover was blown and that the subject was on the run?  John wanted to trust Jude, to believe she was all that she seemed.  But if she was just a kind-hearted nurse, he feared for her.

Bewildered by the silence, Jude wondered what had really happened in Oregon.  "John?  Are you there?"  She was frustrated.  "Why won't you just tell me what's going on?"

"Jude?" he finally said.

"Yes John," she sighed with relief.

"Thank you."

Before she could say anything more, there was a click and a dial-tone.

***

Having showered and dressed, the hungry visitor ventured through the long hall aglow with the golden light of the smattering of wall sconces to the broad wooden staircase.

"'ello," one of the residents, mug in hand, greeted Buffy as they passed on the stairs.  

"Oh... hi.  Um...  Could you tell me how to get to the kitchen?" she asked awkwardly.

"You'd do better to take the servant stairs," the witch suggested.  "Course we've no servants now, but less chance of getting lost going that way until you know your way about.  Just g' down to the end o' the hall," she paused, gesturing the direction opposite the one from which Buffy had come.  "Last door on the left then right down."

"Thanks."  Buffy followed the directions the other woman had provided and arrived at the kitchen without trouble.  To her relief, she also found a familiar face.

"Well Buffy.  Good to see you," Bea welcomed.  "You've had a fine sleep, I trust."  

"Yes, thanks."  Glancing about the room, the Slayer tried to figure the most polite way to inform her hostess that she was famished.

Then Bea offered, "Would you care for something to eat?" causing Buffy to wonder if the woman could read minds.  "Oh, I can," the older woman confirmed.  "Sorry.  I shouldn't.  Dreadful habit, that.  Would you care for a mayonnaise sarnie?  I can do you egg or tuna."

"Sorry, um... Sarnie?"

"Oh no, I'm sorry luv.  Would you like a sandwich?  Think we've got egg salad and tuna."  She went to the fridge.  "Unless you'd like to do a fry-up."

"Ah... I don't know what that is either and I'm pretty much starving," Buffy replied.

"Not surprised.  You've not eaten since... the plane I'm supposing.  Or p'rhaps a nosh on the train?"

Buffy glanced reactively at her watch, which was no help because it was still on California time.  "Um... what time is it?"

"Quarter t' five," was the witches reply as she waved for Buffy to take a seat.  

"Oh.  When's dinner?" the visitor asked as the witch set a plate of sandwiches on the table. 

"Oh my dear, you've slept through dinner."

"Really?"  Buffy was surprised and a little baffled by British custom.  "Um... What time is dinner normally?"

"We're not too precise about time 'round here," Bea explained, "but usually we sit down to dinner at about half seven." 

"But I thought you said-"

"Indeed I did."  The older woman grinned with amusement.  "Clearly you've misunderstood; it's almost five in the morning."

No wonder she felt so well rested!  After months of near-sleepless nights, Buffy had apparently been out for more than fifteen hours of blissful slumber.  Unable to attribute the sleep to anything else, she supposed that Willow had been right that the Coven was a good place to recuperate from the pains of the past months.

"Indeed it is," Bea comforted, eliciting a nervously raised brow from across the table.  "Sorry.  Habit, and you know, I'm not even trying.  You're sending out very strong signals.  Are you sure there isn't something you'd like to discuss?"

***

Before he'd woken in the hospital, even before he'd been found unconscious on the beach up the coast, John Doe 03021 had been Spike the evil-bloodsucking fiend, who'd killed the love of his life, been ensouled as punishment then later set on a path to redemption and ultimately helped to save the world.  It was a ridiculous story if you didn't believe in vampires and a tragic one if you did.  John had no choice but to believe, for hearing that he'd been a vampire only clarified what he'd seen in his dreams and lead him to abandon his search for the woman who haunted those dreams and now, his nightmares.

John now had other women about which to worry:  Slayer-spies who were following him.  Tracking his every move just waiting for him to slip up.  Waiting for him to kill again.  Or was the government studying him?  Seeing if they could successfully reform a vampire and resurrect the human being he'd once been to insert him back as a productive part of society.  But what if the experiment didn't work?  What if the demon could never really be removed?  What if it really was only a matter of time before he killed again?  Jude was the dearest person to him in this life.  Was she really in danger of him?  He'd already proved he could be violent.  He'd already frightened her.  Should he turn himself in?  Give himself over to the government and tell them he shouldn't be allowed to walk the streets?  Was he dangerous?!

Clearly he didn't know enough about himself, his past or why he'd been given a new lease on life to make any kind of judgement.  He needed help.  

"Angel Investigations; we help the helpless," he thought.

***

It took time and yielded tears, but eventually Buffy let out some of the heartache she'd been suppressing for the past several months --- for Spike, for the dead girls they'd left behind in the Hellmouth, for Angel, and for Giles.  

"I understand some of the bitterness you still carry, Buffy.  But you must find a way to come to terms with what's passed so that you can meet the future whole," the woman urged.  "I'm not a seer of the future.  I can only see what's in your heart and your mind.  You've doubts about your place in the world.  Rest assured, you're still needed.  And you're still loved.  And there are people who can help you, luv."  She paused a moment and nodded with a reassuring smile.  "Forgiveness is a great gift.  Don't be afraid to give it."  Leaning forward against the table, Bea pushed herself up.  "Even to yourself."  With a pat on the younger woman's shoulder, she was gone.  

"Forgive myself?" a bewildered Buffy muttered.  "What did she mean by that?"

... Nineteen:  RESONATE


	19. Resonate

Nineteen:  RESONATE 

"You sure this is the right place?" John asked the driver as he held out the business card.

"Yep.  If that's the address."

John sighed, "Right then," and paid the cabbie.  

It was late when the Greyhound had pulled into the station, later still when the desperate figure peered out from the backseat of the taxi at the Hyperion Hotel, but he rationalized that it was probably early for the vampire.  With a gulp and a mental note that Angel "helped the helpless", he didn't eat them, John climbed out of the car and took what seemed to him a long walk up to the front entrance.  As he reached for the door, part of him prayed it would be locked, but it yielded easily to his pull.  Hesitantly, he stepped inside.

The lights were on and the place appeared to be just as one would imagine a hotel lobby of the era.  Perhaps Angel Investigations merely rented space and the hotel was still open to travelers so he'd be able to rent a room for the night.

As John scanned the vast space, a reed-thin woman suddenly appeared from behind the front desk carrying a small plate heaped to overflowing with snacks.  Seeing John, she startled sending half of the nibbles to the floor and her scrambling down after them.  

"Sorry.  Didn't mean to scare you," the man exclaimed as he rushed to assist with the clean up.  

"No.  No.  That's alright," the young woman replied with an accent which, to John, seemed as out of place in sunny California as did his own.  "I'm always doing things like that.  When I go to the fridge I never intend to take out so much, but I see something sweet or something spicy and I just can't help myself so I just pile it on.  I guess my eyes are just bigger than my-"

"Your plate?" John offered with a smirk.

The slight woman blushed and smiled nervously.  Clamouring to her feet with a hand over the messy pile of recovered goodies, she asked, "Can I... Can I help you?"

Here it was:  the moment of truth.  "I... ah... was lookin' for Angel," he stated shyly.  "Is 'e about?"

The woman seemed dismayed:  her eyes widening and brow furling.  She swallowed hard before she spoke.  "Um... no.  He's... he's not here just now."  She was doing a poor job of hiding her discomfort.

"Is 'e out helping the helpless then?" asked John with a bit of relief.

"Well... no."  She shuffled her feet as she dropped her gaze to admire her fuzzy slippers.

The woman's behaviour had John wondering if the girl thought him a bill collector or something --- or perhaps it was simply that he'd caught her in her pajamas.  "We're... ah... old friends," he explained, hoping to put the woman's concerns to rest.

"Oh, where are my manners?" she blurted, causing John to feel that she'd effectively averted answering the question.  Awkwardly, she put her plate down on the counter, wiped her hand off on her robe then offered it.  "My name's Winifred Burkle," she began then she dipped her head a bit and added bashfully, "Fred.  Pretty much everybody calls me 'Fred'.  And you are?"

Briefly he took her hand.  "Call me 'John'."  

"Well... John..."  Instead of easing, her demeanour seemed to further shift back to discomfort as she began to stammer, "I... I don't... I'm afraid that... Um..."

"Fred?"  A tall lean black man appeared on the stairs.  He looked tough and suspicious of what the intruder was after.  "You alright?"

"Yes Charles," she assured.  "Well... um... This is John ah..."

"John Smith," he added, moving toward the other man and extending a hand.

The tall man stepped up.  "Charles Gunn," he replied guardedly.  Looking at his watch as he gave John's hand a firm shake, he noted, "It's... ah... kind of a weird time for-" 

The fidgety woman's eyes popped as she interrupted, "John's a friend of... Angel's."  She'd hesitated, but why?  Did she not believe him?  

"Oh."  Gunn stood with a brow furrowed in concern as he looked to Fred, and in a lowered voice asked, "Does he... know about Angel?"

"That he's a vampire?" John chimed in cheerfully in an exaggerated stage-whisper.  He nodded and confirmed, "Course."

But that didn't seem to help matters.  Charles stepped closer to Fred and assumed a defensive, even possessive stance.  "You're not...?"

A vampire?  The implication was obvious to the visitor.  "No."

Though some of their tension eased, the other two were still troubled.

"About Angel... Actually, 'was' would be a better term," drawled the young woman.

John was baffled.  Had Angel been captured by the government too and made human again?  "Afraid I'm not following."

"He died," she almost cried. 

Gunn added, "About two weeks ago."

John was stunned.  He couldn't figure what to say; all that came out of his mouth was a choked, "How?"

"Oh dear.  I can see you weren't prepared for this --- well who's ever prepared for the death of a friend.  It came as a huge shock to me and-"

"Hey," Charles interrupted, "You should si' down."  He motioned the visitor to the couch.  

"How?" he repeated more forcefully.  "How'd he... How did he die?"

"The way I heard it, he was in a club, and a buncha Slayers burst in and started killin' up the place," Gunn grumbled.

"Slayers..."  John paled.  He stumbled to his feet then toward the door.  "I've gotta go," he mumbled. 

"Hey, whoa.  Hold up," insisted Gunn.  "What's the problem?"

"Isn't it obvious, Charles?"  Fred wandered over to coax the distraught man back to the couch.  "He's upset about his friend."

It didn't matter that Angel was a "good guy".  "Slayers killed him?"  John was in shock; he felt sick.

"Well, it was kind of an accident, I guess," Fred explained.  "They didn't actually know that Angel was... well, Angel.  They just thought he was some ordinary vampire and they caught him by surprise before he had the chance to tell them who is... er... um... was.  Yeah, so um... they didn't know who he was."  Her tone suggested to John that she was trying to convince herself as much as him that the slaying had in fact been an accident.

"But they know who I was," John whimpered quietly.  

"Huh?"  Gunn looked to other man to repeat what he'd said.

Instead, John blurted, "They're after me."  He leapt to his feet and muttered, "Not safe.  I have to go."

"Hey man, take it easy," the other guy insisted.

"Is that why you came looking for Angel?" Fred asked.  "Because somebody's after you?"

***

Sitting down to a late morning tea-break, Giles remarked to Dawn, "We've been struggling.  I've not wanted to say too much in front of the girls but... As you know, we did locate some Field Watchers who'd not been killed, but we've simply not got the necessary numbers to deal with all the Slayers.  At best, I've managed to provide one regional Watcher to every dozen odd Slayers and even then some of them aren't able to devote their time exclusively, as a good deal of that time is spent travelling from Slayer to Slayer.  We're trying to train more --- some of the retired Council members have volunteered to provide some tutelage --- but we've had recruitment issues."  He sighed with discouragement.  "Dawn, is there any chance you could stay on in the new year?  You could finish your studies here and... Well, you're better qualified than some of the old gits."

"I don't know, Giles," the teen replied apprehensively.  "I'm still in high school."

"Dawn, you've a wealth of knowledge and real world experience that people twice your age could never even imagine.  What does it matter that you don't have a piece of paper from some third-rate California high school?"

"Well, Buffy wants-" 

The man bristled and snapped, "You can't keep living your life based on what Buffy wants.  Humanity is at stake and we've the responsibility to protect it.  You could have your own part of that!  You wouldn't have to live in Buffy's shadow."

"Yeah, I get that Giles, but I... I'm in an awkward position.  I wanna be able to help you but she's my sister," the girl implored.  "I know some of what's been going on between you two the past year and it just seems like I'd be betraying Buffy if I stayed here with you."

"Dawn, this isn't about Buffy."  He casually removed his glasses and pulled a cleaning cloth from his pocket.  As he buffed his lenses, he declared, "It's about duty."  Eerily cool and calm, the man paused again to replace his glasses then said, "There was a time when saving you was all that mattered to Buffy.  She gave her life to save the world and you with it."  He took a slow sip of tea, as if allowing that bit of information to be raised to the forefront in Dawn's psyche.  With a raised brow, he asked in a somewhat rhetorical fashion, "Don't you think you owe it to yourself- to Buffy to continue to do as she would have wanted?  ...what she'd be doing now had she not... lost her way?  Don't you think you've a responsibility to protect her world using your own skills?"

***

"We'll put you in Angel's room.  Maybe being around some of his things will help you remember him," Fred suggested as the three climbed the stairs.  "Besides, it's the only room I know is clean.  I went kinda crazy dusting and polishing," the bubbly woman confessed, "after Angel...  Well, I know the bed's been made and the bathroom's sparkling and the room's tidy."  

She and Gunn had managed to calm the visitor a bit and when John admitted he had no place to go, Fred insisted he stay at the Hotel and that he'd be safe there.  When he said he'd fled without going home, Fred deduced he had nothing but the clothes he was wearing, so she made a note to gather some things for him for the time being.  When John confessed he didn't know who he was, Gunn groaned that it was too late and they were all too tired to deal with such a big problem that night, then insisted they find John a room fast.

"Well, here we are," she announced as they approached the door.

"You got everything under control here, Fred?" asked Gunn.  "I'm gonna go lock up."

"Sure Charles.  Night."

"Yeah.  Right then.  Good night," John said, nodding to the other man before turning his eyes back to the door.  

He wasn't sure what to expect of the living quarters of a vampire.  Would there be a coffin inside?  Would the windows all be boarded up?  Had Fred made such a point of cleaning because there were blood stains on the tile?  As she opened the door, John gulped with impulsive trepidation.  After she wandered in and began to rummage in the armoire, he simply poked his head in to scan the room.  It looked perfectly normal, so he cautiously stepped inside.  Still seemed normal, but John was far from comfortable in the space; perhaps the ghosts of their shared past were lurking in the shadows making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.  Slowly, he crept around the room until he felt drawn to a low bookshelf.  Crouching beside it, he scanned the titles of the old volumes until his eyes settled on a spiral bound book at the end.  He pulled it out and stood up to flip through it.

"I found you some pajamas and a toothbrush," the woman said.  "They might be a little big --- the pajamas I mean.  Toothbrushes are all pretty much the same size-"  She stopped when she saw him holding Angel's sketchbook.  Quickly she moved to drop the clothes onto a chair then went to John's side.  Possessively, she took the book from his hands.  "Here, let me."  

As she began to flip through the pages, John was amazed and dismayed by some of the images.  "D' Angel draw these?"

Fred nodded.  

"He's... ah... very good.  The pictures are really vivid."

"Yeah.  He was."  She smiled and turned another page.

"Oh... god..." John blurted in a hushed whisper.  There she was:  the woman in his dreams, right on paper in black and white.  "I think... I killed her," he choked out.  Suddenly, his head began to spin, things went dark then he dropped to the floor, unconscious. 

... Twenty:  REVEAL


	20. Reveal

Twenty:  REVEAL 

"John..." Fred said to the prone figure on the floor.  "John?"  She gave him a gentle nudge with her foot.  "Oh... no... John!"  Cautiously she stepped over him to position herself nearer to his head then she leaned down and gently slapped him across the face a few times with her free hand.  Nothing.  After straightening again, she alternated her gaze from John, who appeared to have paled several shades, to the page in the book at which he'd been looking before he collapsed, while muttering, "Buffy.  He said he killed Buffy.  Oh... no..."  Jittery, she dropped the sketchbook on a chair then edged toward the door.  "Charles?" Fred called into the hall, not taking her eyes off the man on the floor.  "Charles!  Help!"

Full of dread, Gunn raced up the stairs brandishing a shiny battleaxe, prepared to take on the creature that had his friend in such a state.  He knew they shouldn't have let a total stranger into the hotel on his own claim to have been a friend of Angel's --- even if that were true, it didn't mean he was "safe" to have around.  "Fred!  What is it?"

"It's John; he's fainted," she stated simply.  "Could you... Could you keep an eye on him while I... I get something from my room?"  

Before he could answer, she was gone.

Gunn scratched his head, bewildered by Fred's behaviour and unsure why he was babysitting the unconscious guy on the floor.  At least if Fred had told him she'd whacked the guy over the head, it would have made sense, but he fainted!  With a shrug and a huff, he sauntered over to a comfortable chair near the guy and flopped down, only realizing afterward that he'd sat on something.  Shifting in the chair, he pulled out the sketchbook then proceeded to flip through it.

Interspersed amidst sketches of buildings and artefacts, were ones of demons and people, not all of whom he recognized.  Several of Cordelia.  One of the Beast.  A lot of Buffy.  "Oh shit!"  It was John, but he didn't look quite right; didn't look so helpless or innocent.  "Angel knew him alright," Gunn mumbled.  "Not so sure about them being friends."

In a whirl, Fred burst into the room with a taser and a bucket of ice.  

"Fred?  What the hell?"

"It's just a precaution Charles," she assured as she went to the kitchenette to top up the bucket with water.  "OK.  Ready." 

Looking at her with raised brows, Gunn asked, "For?"

"To bring him around.  Here, throw this on him," she ordered, thrusting the container toward her friend.

"And why the taser?"

Fred was fidgeting.  "Well, just in case he's dangerous."  She eased the tension in her elbows and lowered the bucket.

"What makes you think he's dangerous?" the man asked in a tone that made clear he didn't doubt the possibility John was dangerous, just that he wondered what would have given Fred that impression.  "And if he's dangerous, why d' ya wanna wake him up?"

"I dunno.  Something I thought he said.  We're not-"

"Wha' did he say?" Gunn demanded.  

"I'm not sure.  But Charles..."  Fred swallowed hard.  "I think he said he killed Buffy.  He was looking at a drawing of her and I think... well, that's what he said."

"A picture, huh?  Did you see this one?" he asked turning the drawing of "John" toward the already high-strung woman.

Fred set down the bucket and took the book.  Looking at the sketch only a moment, she shook her head then she dropped the book on the counter.  "Well... We don't know anything," she insisted, reaching again for the ice water-filled container.  "We can't make any judgements until we know something.  In this country, everyone is innocent until proven guilty."  

"But you said-"

She glared at him and held out the bucket.  "We're not going to know anything for sure until he's conscious and can answer some questions.  And we have to be careful; we don't want to spook him.  But we need him awake.  So get on with it.  Wake him up!"

***

"Buffy?"  

Sitting in front of the fireplace in the mansion's front sitting-room, the Slayer looked to the door to see Willow and Bea with another older woman.  "Why do I get the feeling I'm in for an intervention?" mumbled Buffy to herself.  "Yes?"

"This is Aisling; she's one of our Coven's seers."  Bea introduced.  "Might we speak with you a moment?"

"Um... Sure."  

The three women joined her by the fire, Bea and Willow perching on the hearth, the other woman settling into the wingback chair opposite Buffy.

"Now Buffy, luv," Bea began.  "I hope you don't mind, but we've been talking about you."

The Slayer gulped.  

"It's just, well, you've been really reclusive since you came and we were worried about you," Willow explained.  

"I'm fine, Will."

"But you're not fine," the seer spoke up, "and you're going to need all your strength to survive what's coming."

"What's coming?" the Slayer repeated, questioningly.  She didn't want to hear about it, didn't want to think of any new evil or apocalypse.

"I know you're frustrated.  Angry.  But you've got to look inside yourself to overcome those emotions," urged Bea.

"You're going to receive a call," Aisling stated, "from someone unexpected.  Someone from your past who needs you.  Heed that call.  It will impact greatly on your life and the lives of all humanity."

***

_"A hundred plus years, and there's only one thing I've ever been sure of: you."  He could feel her heart skip a beat and smell the saltiness of the tears welling in her eyes.  _

_She looked away in that moment, breaking their intense shared gaze. He reached for her cheek in a gentle gesture of caring, but she turned away misreading his intensions. _

_He pulled his hand away, holding it in midair pondering what to do with it. Realizing he'd gone too far, he brought his arm down to rest on his knee.  "Hey, look at me.  I'm not askin' you for anything.  When I say I love you, it's not because I want you ...or 'cause I can't have you.  It has nothing to do with me.  I love what you are.  What you do.  How you try."  The tiniest hint of an encouraging smile curled his lips as the tears trailed down her cheek.  "I've seen your kindness and your strength.  I've seen the best and the worst of you," he said teasingly, "and I understand with perfect clarity exactly what you are:  you're the one..."_

_Her eyelids flutter; eyes blurred by her tears, briefly opening wide stunned by such a compliment. Her lips part slightly as if to speak._

***

With a twitch, a sputter, some coughing, and a "Bloody Hell", their "guest" regained consciousness.

"Sorry about that.  You fainted.  Here, let me get you a towel," Fred chirped with insincere sweetness as she popped into the bathroom.

"Fainted?"  Embarrassed, John avoided making eye contact with the man he noticed was now in the room.

Fred reappeared and politely handed the dripping man the towel then settled into a chair next to Gunn.

"What happened?" inquired John shyly, as he sat on the floor resting his elbows on his raised bent knees.

"You were looking at some of Angel's drawings then you saw-"

"Her," he uttered staring beyond the pair in front of him.

Fred needed to be absolutely sure to which woman in the book John was referring, so she picked it up and passed the book back to him.  "Can you show me?"  

He flipped the book open somewhere in the middle then shuffled through a few pages and found her:  Buffy.  

"So you knew her?  The woman in this picture?" Fred clarified as she looked with shifty eyes to Charles.

"I did," he said with a sorrowful smile.  After a pause, whispering woefully, he admitted, "I killed her."  

The other two stiffened at the declaration.  

"She was the love of my life and I... killed her."

"When?" asked Gunn.  

Even more shocked by John's belief that Buffy had been the love of his life than by the possibility that he'd killed her, Fred's jaw dropped, "Huh?" 

Gunn repeated, "When did you...?"

"I don't... I don't know," was John's strange reply.  "Like I said, I don't remember much about my life before..."

"Before what?" Fred inquired.  

"I woke up in hospital a few months ago; I don't remember much before that," the visitor stated.  "Just flashes here and there."

For a moment the other two sat bewildered, processing what John had told them.  Then Gunn said, "But if that was months ago, you couldn't-"

Fully aware of the conclusion the man had drawn, Fred slapped his arm to keep him revealing it then finished his sentence in an entirely different vein, "-couldn't have been living here in L.A. or we'd have met you?  Right?"  Without pausing to let the man answer, the high-strung woman jumped to her feet.  "Well, it's late and you must be tired; I know I am.  You are too, aren't you, Charles?  I'd better get you outta here," she said, giving him a stern look and a sharp but subtle jerk of her head toward the door, "before you drop off right there in that chair."  Fred dragged Gunn up out of the chair and pushed him toward the door.  "We'll meet you downstairs in the morning.  Night." 

"Good night," a bewildered John called back as the pair disappeared behind the closed door.

***

On her way to work, Jude tried to reassure herself that John was alright.  He wasn't hopelessly roaming the dark lonely streets of Santa Barbara late on Christmas Eve; he was home in bed sleeping off too much food and eggnog with his landlords or maybe he was working that night too.  She'd called his place several times since they'd last spoken --- since he'd said simply "thank you" and hung up the phone --- but he didn't answer.  Distracted with worry, Jude didn't notice the figure in the street until it was too late.  Still, she slammed on the brakes.

Hearing the thump and rumble of the body over the hood of her car, gave the nurse a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.  "Oh god.  What have I done?"  She reached for her purse, pulled out her cell phone then opened her door to check on the person she'd hit.

"Nine One One emergency.  How can I help you?"

"My name is Judith Sanders.  I need to report an M.V.A.," she stated as she walked to the back of her car.  But when she reached the rear, there was no body.

"What's you location ma'am?"

Jude was hardly listening.  She was desperate to find the accident victim when suddenly the panicked driver was grabbed from behind and her cell phone ripped from her hand.

"Look what we have here," said a girl who didn't look to the nurse to be more than fourteen.  "Great phone, lady.  Been looking for one of these."  

"You want it, take it.  Please just let me find the person I hit!"  The woman struggled but the teens that were holding her were, collectively, too strong.  "I just wanna help."

"Well, you can help by givin' me that sweater," the girl sneered.  

"But..."  She couldn't give up John's gift.

Coolly, the teen stepped up and said, "But it's Christmas.  That's OK; I don't mind that you didn't wrap it."  She took Jude's hand a squeezed, hard --- so hard that the nurse could feel the bones splintering.  "It's the thought that counts, and I think you better hurry up and gimme that sweater."

... Twenty-one:  RECESS


	21. Recess

Twenty-one:  RECESS 

"What do you mean I'm going to get a call?  A call from who?" the bewildered Slayer asked Aisling, adding with a clear note of apathy, "What happens if I don't answer the phone?"

"There remains a certain degree of chance in all things, Buffy," the seer explained, "but I can say this:  your future depends on your ability to deal with what you shall learn and how you act afterward."

"That's why it's so important that you take this time to fortify your inner strength," insisted Bea.  "Not all battles are won with brute force.  It takes a clear head and a strong will.  Your head is clouded with ghosts from your past.  You simply don't have the will required to take on the challenges that are to come."

"Please Buffy," Willow begged.  "We've tried some more... ah... subtle methods."

Suspicious, the Slayer asked, "What do you mean?"

"I had your room supplied with some enchanted healing stones," her friend admitted.

"The ones in the drawer!" Buffy acknowledged with some annoyance.  "What sort of mojo have you been trying to work on me?" 

"They're entirely harmless," the young witch assured.  "There's quartz to help balance your emotions; a sapphire to make you feel more comfortable talking about stuff; and malachite to ease your stress levels."

"Willow meant you no harm," Bea told the Slayer.  "You're to be here such a sort time; the stones were only intended to speed the process a wee bit, to help you relax and allow yourself to heal."

Buffy got up from her chair.  "You know, I'm sick to death of everyone telling me that I'm hurting and I need to deal with my emotions.  I deal.  The same way I always have.  And everything turns out just fine.  So why don't you all just-"

"Stop!" Aisling yelped and shut her eyes before being lost in a series of ticks and groans.  

"Um... What's... going on?" Buffy asked as she looked on fearfully as the woman's face contorted.

With eyes full of sympathy, Bea explained, "She's having a vision... and, I dare say, it isn't a good one."  

The old seer's odd behaviour didn't last long, but when she reopened her eyes, the woman was quick to rise to her feet and make for the hall.  "I have to go."

***

"OK.  You wanna tell me what just happened back there?" Gunn asked Fred as he followed her down the hall.  

She hushed him and waved him into her room.  

Once inside, he repeated, "Now're you gonna tell me what's goin' on?"

"You heard what he said.  John thinks that he killed Buffy," Fred began.  "But since he thinks he killed her months ago, and we know she was still alive a week ago..."

"He couldn't have killed her," the man concluded as he sat down on the edge of the bed.  "Yeah, I got that.  What I don't get is why you don't want him to know."

"But he also said she was the 'love of his life'."  Fred was agitated so she paced around her room as the wheels in her head were grinding away trying to deduce what should be done about the visitor and who exactly he might be.  "Does that sound right to you?  I mean, Buffy was the love of Angel's life."

"You think he's some kinda psycho-stalker or somethin'?"  

"Well, that's possible... and pretty much why I didn't want you to tell him anything until we know more about him," the young woman explained.  "Maybe we should call Buffy and ask her about him --- except that that might be exactly what he wants us to do since that would lead him right to her.  We can't go sending him after Buffy if he really does mean to kill her, right?  So we shouldn't call.  At least not until we know more."

"Sounds good to me," Gunn said as he went to get up.  "See ya in the-"

"But he might turn out to be perfectly harmless," she suggested, making Gunn settle back onto the bed and sigh heavily at the realization that he wasn't going to get to leave any time soon.  "He could be from an alternate dimension where we all exist but we don't know about our other selves here in this dimension.  I mean, for a while there we had portals to alternate dimensions opening up all over the place.  Maybe he just found a way through?" Fred crossed in front of Gunn and just as he was about to respond, she cut in with another thought, "Or he could be some kind of time traveler like Holtz.  Well, except that he's gone back in time instead of forward like Holtz did."   Her friend raised a brow at the odd theories, but it went unnoticed as Fred continued to ponder the possibilities.  "And maybe when he said that he killed Buffy, it was an accident and he's traveled back in time to correct that?  That's really kinda romantic don't ya-"

"Whoa... Now I dunno if what yer sayin' is true, but what I do know is that if I gotta think any more about this tonight, my head's gonna explode."  He sauntered over to the still pensive woman, gave her a kiss on the cheek and bid her goodnight, "Merry Christmas.  See ya in the mornin'."

"Alright Charles," conceded Fred before brightening with another idea.  "You know, Buffy did die.  He could just be some old boyfriend that remembered her dead and blames himself for it.  Oh!  We can get Lorne to read him!  Maybe sing a Christmas carol or somethin' so he doesn't get all suspicious and then-"

"Good night Fred," Gunn groaned on his way out the door before closing it behind himself.

***

His guests had arrived and were in the sitting room enjoying a drink and some cheese while their host finished up in the kitchen.  

"Almost ready!" Andrew called as he checked the timer on his Yorkshires before returning to the saucepan on the stove.  "This gravy is kicking my ass!" he grumbled to himself.  "They're gonna want gravy.  I can't serve the potatoes or the Yorkshire pudding without the gravy!"  His mind --- a muddle of recipes and times, and maps, names and dates --- was split between his dinner party and his job.  He'd been distracted and added the liquid too quickly so the gravy was lumpy.  As he ran the mess through a sieve, he considered conversation topic options for dinner.  

Having his boss for dinner was an important event.  Avoiding talking about work would be nearly impossible especially given the fact that the man had only recently returned from his trip to the States and the two had not yet been able to exchange a full briefing of the events in and outside of the Council's office.  

"Maybe since Dawn's here... No," he moaned.  Although Andrew would have liked to believe otherwise, there was no reason that the older man would want to hide any of the Council's business from the girl.  Andrew knew that the Council Head was grooming Dawn to hold some position, perhaps teaching ancient languages to trainee Watchers.  As long as she'd not be taking his job, Andrew would deal with having her around.  "She could never do my job.  I'm... I'm indispensable.  Mr. Giles would be lost without me."  The young man had worked diligently since turning away from the "Dark Side" and he was certain that after the thoroughness with which he'd prepared for the Council meeting the following week, Giles would promote him to some more important position.

With the gravy strained into a serving vessel and the Yorkshire pudding out of the oven surrounding the roast, the proud cook carried his masterpiece to the table.  "Dinner is served," he declared.  

"Ah lovely," Giles remarked as he stood up from the couch and made his way with Dawn to the table.

"Yeah, it looks great, Andrew," the young woman added as the phone rang.  "Oh, you want me to get that?"

"No, I'll get it.  Mr. Giles?" Andrew held the carving knife and fork to the man.  "Would you do the honours?"

The older fellow took the utensils and prepared to slice the meat as the younger hurried to the phone.  

"Merry Christmas.  Andrew speaking."  

"Ah yes, ah... Happy Christmas to you, Andrew," the voice on the other end replied awkwardly.  "Aisling here.  From the Coven in Westbury."  

The festive smile was quickly washed from his face as he listened to the grim report of what the witch had seen in her vision.

***

After a calming shower, brushing his teeth and changing into the pajamas Fred had found for him, John wandered back out to the main room to grab the sketchbook.  On the way he noticed the telephone and realized that he should call Jude.  She'd be at work, he figured, so he could just leave a message on her machine.  It would be quick, not too much of an imposition on his hosts and his friend would know he was alright.  

"Hello?" a gruff man's voice answered.

John was startled.  "Um... sorry.  Must have the wrong number."

"What number are ya callin'?"

"Ah... 805-555-9642," he replied hesitantly.

"That's the number," the man confirmed.  "Are you a friend of Judith's?"

"Well, yes."  John wasn't sure what to make of this stranger answering his friend's phone in the middle of the night.

"I'm her uncle, Peter.  I'm afraid I've got some bad news."  

There was a pause and John felt a lump form in his throat the ominous tone with which the man had spoken.  

"Judith's in the hospital."

"Well, yeah.  She's working.  I was just-"

"No.  She's not _at_ the hospital; Judith is _in_ the hospital," the uncle clarified.  "She was attacked on her way to work.  We don't know much, except that she's been beaten pretty bad.  I'm just here picking up some stuff and waiting for her mom to call to-"

"Yeah, right then..." John interrupted, in shock at the discovery.  "Um... Thanks."  He hung up.  "How could I leave her?  I should be with her now," he lamented while rubbing his temple.  "No... that could put her in more danger.  What am I goin' t' do?"  Feeling numb inside, he retired to the bedroom.  "Maybe Fred... Fred can help me."  

Without any further coherent thoughts, the traveler climbed into bed, clutched a pillow to his chest, pulled the linens over his head and went to sleep.

... Twenty-two:  REVELATIONS


	22. Revelations

Twenty-two:  REVELATIONS 

After an abbreviated Christmas dinner, Giles went with his two young companions to the Council office where they previewed Andrew's presentation for the planned meeting the following week.  

"So you see Mr. Giles," Andrew said, "things are much worse than any of us realized.  I was hoping that we could at least get through the holiday without having to get into this, but..."

"What are we going to do, Giles?" a concerned Dawn asked.

"Andrew, see what you can do about getting the Council together sooner," the Council Head instructed.  "If it's at all possible, we should move the meeting up.  Some hard decisions are going to have to be made and it would be best if we had as many members present as possible.  Start with the senior members.  Dawn, give him a hand with that, would you please?  Use my office."  Without taking his eyes off the report, Giles got up from the board table and headed for the door.

"Mr. Giles?" said Andrew.

"What is it?" he snapped.

"Where are you going?"

"I'll be in your office," the man said sharply.  "I want to see all the original correspondence.  There has to be some other explanation for all this."

"But Mr. Giles..."

The older man pushed past the younger.  "It's evil.  Rising evil makes us all act oddly."

"But Mr. Giles-" Andrew repeated before the man shot him a stern look.

"Consider when the First convinced you to kill Jonathan.  Is that something you'd have done of your own accord?" Giles inquired slyly.

Swallowing hard, Andrew conceded, "You're probably right.  There must be another explanation."  With a sigh, he turned to Dawn.  "I'll start at the top of the list; you work up from the bottom."

***

Fred came down the stairs deep in thought.  "Who is John really?  Angel never mentioned havin' a friend named 'John'," she muttered to herself, "well, not that I can remember."  The idea that the vampire even had friends outside their little circle came as something of a surprise.  But this visitor wasn't just someone who Angel had known.  "Buffy knew him too --- or at least he knew Buffy.  Or so he says..."  When she arrived in the lobby, Fred was brought out of her thoughts by the smell of coffee.

"Happy Christmas, Fred."  Wesley smiled warmly as he poured a mug of brew.  

"Wes, you're out early," the young woman noted.  "We weren't expecting you until some time after noon."

"Think he was findin' his place a little cramped," remarked Faith, who appeared out of nowhere to grab Wes' coffee.

"Oh Faith.  It's... nice to see you again."  The shy woman turned back to the more comforting face of her friend.  "Could I talk to you for a minute... in private?" she asked quietly, tipping her head toward the hotel office.  

"Certainly," the man replied.  "I'm sure Faith can find some way to amuse herself."

Faith nodded.  "Hey, knock yourself out."

Wesley motioned for Fred to proceed into the office then followed, closing the door behind himself.  "What seems to be the trouble?"  

"Well..." the young woman began as she pulled a folded paper from her pocket.  After opening it, she handed the sheet to him and said, "It's this."

"A drawing?"  He examined the sketch briefly then inquired, "Where did you get this?"

"Charles found it in one of Angel's sketchbooks."  She glanced nervously from the drawing to Wes and back again.  "Do you know who it is?"

"I'm not certain."  Wesley switched on the computer.  "It bears a strong resemblance to Spike."

"Spike?"

"William the Bloody.  Long-time adversary of Angel's," he explained as he tapped at the keyboard.  "Ah yes, there he is."  Wesley turned the monitor so his friend could see the screen.  "From the hair and the clothes, it's evident the drawing is much more recent than this lithograph, but I should think they're the same being."  Fred looked stunned at the image on the screen.  "He was a vampire; one of the most infamous on record.  Says here, he earned his nickname by torturing his victims with railroad spikes.  Charming," the man mumbled sarcastically.  "He fought and killed two Slayers in the previous century --- so clearly he was a formidable opponent," the Brit noted before turning his gaze from the monitor and relaying from memory what he'd learned from Giles, "-until a few years ago when he was captured by government scientists.  Remarkably, he spent the last few years fighting demons in Sunnydale."

"He knew Buffy then?"

"Yes."

"But you've never met him?"

"Well, no.  My tenure on the Hellmouth was short," the former Watcher remarked in a tone mixed with bitterness and shame.  "Spike had left Sunnydale before I arrived and didn't return until some time after I'd relocated to Los Angeles."  

"But it'd be reasonable to assume when he got to Sunnydale, Spike intended to kill a third Slayer?" Fred asked attempting to put together the pieces of what John had revealed.

"Certainly."  Curiously, Wesley inquired, "Why the sudden interest?  It's only a sketch."

Too focused on her own train of thought, Fred ignored the man's question and posed another of her own, "Were they..."  She cleared her throat.  "Were they involved?"

"Honestly, I don't know the whole story.  From what Mr. Giles said, Spike was in love with her; he sought a soul for her-"

"A soul?"

Wes tipped his head and shrugged.  "She was... protective of him.  She trusted him.  I can only assume they were close."

Fred's eyes began to tear.  "She was the love of his life."

"I suppose.  Ah... that's possible."  He nodded thoughtfully.  "And then he died helping to save the world."

"What?" Fred asked with a start.  

"He was one of those lost when Sunnydale collapsed into the Hellmouth," explained Wes matter-of-factly.

"But..."  She turned to the door.

"What is it Fred?"

***

In the Hyperion lobby, Faith was perusing Angel's weapons cabinet.  When suddenly she heard a voice, "Excuse me... Fred?"  

Instantly on edge, she peered around the frosted glass door to see a familiar and now unwanted face.  "What the hell are you doing here?" she barked.

John, surprised by both the appearance of the stranger and by her tone, was taken aback.

"I dunno what you think you're gonna get outta this.  Ya got the wrong Slayer here, pal."

"Slayer?" the man repeated to himself.  When the dark-haired woman advanced on him, John took a step back toward the stairs.  Like a cornered animal, his eyes darted around the room seeking out the best means of escape as he cursed himself for ever having come to this place; he should have stayed in Santa Barbara.  Had he still been there, maybe he could have protected Jude --- at very least, he could have been with her now when she needed him.  Instead, he'd landed himself in unfamiliar territory with an even more dangerous Slayer than the two he'd already encountered.  They'd only seemed to want to spy on him; instinct told him this one meant to harm him.  Though she was talking, he was too fearful to process anything she said.

"Look, I know who you are and your mind games aren't gonna work on me this time," she sneered.  "And I can't fight you my way 'cause..."  She took a swing at him, sharp in the abdomen, knocking him to the ground and winding him.

"Bloody... hell!"

"What the f-"

"Stop!" shrieked Fred as she burst from the office.  "Faith, what are you doing?"

"Shit..." grumbled the baffled Slayer as she shook out her fist and rubbed it with her other hand.

"Faith?  Fred?  What's going on here?" Wesley asked.  Catching sight of the man on the floor, his jaw dropped.  "Spike?"

***

"Willow?  It's Dawn."

"Yes Dawnie," the witch greeted cheerfully.  "Are you having a good-"

Getting right down to business, the girl interrupted, "Giles wanted me to call and let you know the Council meeting is being moved up.  We need everyone to come as soon as possible.  Can you make it here tomorrow?  I don't think we'll be able to actually hold the meeting until the weekend, but... well, you need to know what's going on."

"Dawn, what is it?"

"I can't really get into it right now, Will," she replied, "but it's bad.  Is Buffy there?"

"She's taking a walk, why?"

"She should be here too.  It's really important."

***

Stunned by the situation, everyone spoke at once.

"Hey, I thought he was the First."

"I thought he was dead."

"I thought he was human."

"What do you bleedin' Slayers want with me?"

"Now wait just a moment," Wesley insisted waving his hands in the air to silence the din.  "I gather this is why you were asking about the drawing," he said to Fred before turning to Faith and noting, "and that we've established he's not the First."

"First. Last. Whatever.  You Slayers just couldn't wait to get your hands on me," an hysterical John ranted.  "Did I do somethin'?  Or is this some sort o' daft L.A. holiday tradition I'm not familiar with?"

"No, it isn't," Fred assured.

John raised a defensive brow at Faith.  "You'll call off your Slayers, then?"

"Hey man.  Sorry," the Slayer said with hands high in surrender.  "I didn't know."

Looking to the man who'd come out of the office with Fred, John added, "And you'll get 'em to stop followin' me?"

"Wait a minute.  Slayers?" Fred questioned.  "Following you?  But-"

"Right then.  Um... I don't think we've been introduced although I've heard a bit about you from Mr. Giles.  I'm Wesley Wyndham-Pryce," the dark-haired man declared offering a hand to his fairer-haired counterpart.  

"John Smith."  

Bewildered by the response, Wes exclaimed, "I'm sorry?  John... John Smith?"

"By the look on your face, I assume you were expecting someone else," the visitor stated.  "Look mate, like I told Fred and that Charles bloke last night-"

"Last night?"  Wes shot Fred an inquisitive glance, receiving an awkward smile and a shrug.

"Like I told 'em last night, I don't remember a whole lot about my life.  Not since I turned up in Santa Barbara last spring."

"Since he woke up in the hospital," stressed Fred.

"In the hospital?"  This morning was proving to be one surprise after another for Wesley.  Curiously, he reached again for the other man's hand.  "Do you mind?"

Recalling the disturbing experience when Alex Harris lunged at his throat, John was well aware of what the man was doing so he shook his head and held up the wrist.

"Remarkable," Wes muttered at detecting the man's pulse.  "And you say you don't remember anything prior to... when?  May?  June?"

"S'ppose it was the end of May.  I was unconscious a while," the traveler explained.  "Got some flashes here and there."

Wes cupped his chin and rubbed it with his thumb, nodding thoughtfully.  "Oh, please."  He motioned to the pair of red couches in the corner.  "Do sit down.  I'd like to hear more.  P'rhaps we can help you fill in some of the gaps."  Once the fair-haired man had taken a seat and the others gathered nearby, Wesley, who sat opposite the visitor, directed another question, "What brought you here?"  

John recounted the tale of his seeing Harris on television and of their subsequent meeting.  

"So he knew you in... your other life as 'Spike'?" Wes reiterated.

"Yeah, and daft as the stuff he told me sounded, made sense of some of the bits that might've been memories."

"What sort of 'bits', John?" asked Fred.

"Don't know exactly," he replied.  "Fightin' and scrappin', disfigured faces...  Something... familiar about bein' around chatty birds --- women... girls.  Got some sort o' thing about basements," he admitted awkwardly.  "Not real comfortable goin' below ground."

"Makes sense," chimed Faith from the background.  

The others turned to her.  

Self-consciously, the Slayer cleared her throat.  "Well, could be 'cause of that last fight when we went down into the Hellmouth.  Or it could just be 'cause of living in the basement at Bu-"

"That's very int'resting," Wesley interrupted as he turned back to the visitor.  "Is there much else?"

"Smells... tastes... situations make me remember things."

"Like the sketchbook last night," prompted Fred as she made for the stairs.  Wesley asked with a look what she was doing; she just smiled and gave a knowing shake of her head before she turned to hurry up the steps.

John suddenly became more uneasy, squirming where he sat and unable to meet either of the new faces that surrounded him.  "Yeah," he admitted softly.  He was quiet for a time then just as the other man was going to ask another question, John cleared the lump that had formed in his throat.  "There's one... woman in particular.  Long, golden hair.  Soft sad green eyes.  She haunts me."  Quietly he repeated what he'd told Gunn and Fred the previous night, "I loved her.  I... I killed her."  Then with a look desperate for answers, he turned to Wes.  "Is that why I got a soul?"

"A soul?" questioned Gunn from where he appeared on the stairs accompanied by Fred with the book.

"Yes, Charles.  Wes told me earlier that Spike had a soul."

"Well, yeah.  That's how come he wore the amulet," exclaimed Faith.

"Amulet?" the others repeated.

"I guess Angel gave it to Buffy-"

John's heart skipped.  "Buffy..." 

"-and said that it could only be worn by somebody strong with a soul and-"

"And that's what destroyed the Hellmouth," Wesley concluded, without waiting for a reply of confirmation from the Slayer.  "The vampire with a soul...  Fiends unleashed...  Apocalyptic battle... Shanshu!" 

... Twenty-Three:  REPRISE


	23. Reprise

Disclaimer: Yep, more stuff in this chapter that isn't mine. This time, the lyrics to the Beatles Classic, "Hey Jude" --- which was written by the team of John Lennon and Paul McCartney. . . . Twenty-three:  REPRISE 

"... Shanshu!" exclaimed Wes with excited wide eyes.  

"Bless you," the visitor replied.

"Beg your pardon?"  The darker Brit's brow knitted for a moment then softened as he chuckled.  "No, not 'a-choo'.  'Shawn-shoo'.  But I'm getting ahead of myself; I don't want to jump to any conclusions or make too many assumptions before we know for certain who John here is— or rather was.  No offence" he said to the visitor, "but you may not have been Spike."

"Hey, none taken," John assured.  "I'd be right chucked to find out I'm just a regular bloke who somehow wound up with someone else's memories or visions or what all."  

"How're you gonna prove he's this Spike guy?" Gunn asked.

"Excellent question.  When Darla turned up, we had Angel to verify her identity.  Obviously that's not a viable option here," Wesley stated before tipping his head and shifting mental gears.  "That also raises the question that even if John were Spike, is it possible he was brought back by some means other than fulfillment of the Shanshu."

"Look, I dunno about Spike or John or whoever," grumbled Faith with a nod to the fairest of the men, "but you lost me.  Who's Darla?  And Shawn?  And what's the big about fillin' his shoes?"

"Shanshu, it's a prophecy," Wesley explained.  "It tells of a vampire with a soul who would play a major role in the apocalypse.  Ultimately, when he's achieved his destiny, he would become human."

"We thought it was about Angel," Gunn interjected.  "Him bein' the only vampire we knew with a soul."

"Darla was Angel's sire.  She was resurrected a few years ago by Wolfram and Hart in what I dare say was an attempt to gain some level of control over Angel.  I've no doubt the firm also believed Angel was the prophesied vampire with a soul."  With his explanation complete, Wesley paused for a moment then considered the current situation.  "You know, it's odd, when I learned this past spring that Spike had acquired a soul, it never occurred to me that he might have been the prophesied vampire because we believed he... well, we thought he died in the Hellmouth."

"But maybe that's not the case," an excited Fred suggested.  "Maybe John is Spike and he's been rewarded for his sacrifice!"

"Alright, let's review what we know," suggested Wes.  "First, John is corporeal, therefore presumably not the First Evil.  Secondly, he has a pulse, breathes and so on, so he's not a vampire.  Both Faith's identification of him and this drawing suggest at very least he looks like Spike," the diligent man noted, "but since no one else --- not even John himself --- is able to corroborate, I'm not willing to reach that conclusion as yet.  P'rhaps we should take him into Wolfram and Hart, and run some tests?"

Fred spoke up, "I'd hate to drag everyone into the office today.  Truth is, I'm not crazy about being there most days, but today—"

"B'sides, you just said these Wolfram and Hart guys were tryin' to control Angel?  I don't wan' to be somebody's lab rat," John insisted, "'specially not to find out I've already been somebody's lab rat."

"You probably don't gotta worry about Wolfram and Hart.  We're runnin' things over there now, so..." Gunn tried to look reassuring.

"Um... not to state the obvious er anything," Faith interjected, "but why don't ya just call Buffy?  If anybody's gonna know if this is Spike, she would."

"I'm not sure that's a wise idea at this point, Faith," Wesley countered.  "While I don't know a great deal about their relationship, I imagine that, given her recent loss, it would be best to confirm John's identity before bringing Buffy in on the matter."  

Disappointed by the man's recommendation, John gave the Slayer an appreciative nod and half-smile for her effort, which she returned.  

"There has to be something we can do to at least rule out some other possibilities.  What about Lorne?" Fred suggested.

"Oh!  Are my ears burning?" the fatigued yet cheerful demon asked as he entered from the courtyard.  "Thankfully, not literally anymore.  Remind me never again to agree to read a broken-hearted Fire-thrower."  Gracefully Lorne strolled over to where the group was assembled in the corner of the lobby.  "So 'what about Lorne' what. Freddikins?"  Taking note of the new arrivals, the demon didn't wait for a response but instead greeted, "Faith!  You look fabulous!  Obviously this free-agency is agreeing with you.  Oh, and I see you've brought a friend."  Tipping his head back to direct his comment to the Slayer, "He's quite the—", Lorne moved toward John, who tried to sink deeply into the couch to avoid the large green hand coming toward him.  

"We're not friends," the two stated at once before each tried awkwardly to sound less grim.

"I mean..."

"We just... We just met," the man stammered, part afraid, part bewildered by the green-skinned creature.  

"Well, sorta," Faith corrected.  

"At very least, your fist 'as met my gut," John grumbled, only half-joking.  

Defensively, the Slayer countered, "I just meant that I met you before, but..."

Fred jumped in to rescue the pair.  "Lorne, this is John," then she and the others explained the situation.  "Do you think you could try a reading?"

"Well, I suppose I could have a go.  You think you're up for it, handsome?" the demon asked John, who replied simply with a fearful expression.  "Hey, look, a little temple rub is about as invasive as I get --- well, professionally at least," Lorne remarked with a grin as he batted his lashes.  "You're not comfortable with that, you can just sing."

The nervous visitor swallowed hard.  "Beg your pardon?"

"It's alright, John.  Lorne's anagogic," Wesley explained.  "He can read your soul, but only if you sing."

"Kind of a—" The demon shrugged.  "— funny quirk."  

"He might be able to tell us who you are or why you can't remember anything," Fred added encouragingly.

Recalling her past discussions with Spike, with a sly grin, Faith teased, "Don't have anything to hide do ya?"

***

Late into the night, Giles sat surrounded by files of news clippings and video tapes in dozens of languages, reams of data and correspondence from Watchers, Seers and free-lance people doing work for the Council. He'd attempted to cross-reference details and dates with dozens of books searching for explanations for the current world situation --- mystic energies, demon-thralls, convergences of stars and planets, maybe even dimensions. "Damn!" he exclaimed as he slammed shut yet another thick text. "If only we had more resources..."  Getting up from his chair and heading for the door, he huffed bitterly, "Damn her and that blasted spell!"

***

Some time later, John found himself seated atop a stool in the cavernous Hyperion lobby with five pairs of eyes staring at him and convinced that the pounding of his heart echoed through the whole place.  Maybe he could drown it out.  {{Hey Jude, don't make it bad; take a sad song and make it better.  Remember to let her into your heart then you can start to make it better.}}

"He's pretty good," Fred whispered happily to no one in particular as he began the second verse.  

A couple of the others nodded, but Lorne was deep in thought, leaning into the armrest and rubbing a finger across his pursed lips.

John shifted uneasily on the chair and glanced up at the group then quickly down to the floor.  {{And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude refrain, don't carry the world upon your shoulders...}}  As the visitor sang, his voice wavered.  His forehead furled.  His widening eyes glistened.

Gunn peered around to the others who were listening intently.  He couldn't stay silent; instead he leaned back to Faith and asked, "Hey, what up wit him?"  

The dark-haired woman shrugged and gave a "How the hell do I know?" expression to which Gunn replied.

"Just thought since you knew the guy..."  

The sorrow John felt for his friend was overcoming him, he managed to choke out an emotion-ragged, {{And don't you know that it's just you, hey Jude, you'll do.  The move... ment... you—}} before finally breaking down.

  
Lorne and Fred got up from the couches where they'd been sitting and went to John's side.  

As the sympathetic woman patted the sobbing man on the back, she looked to Lorne, "Did you get anything?" 

The demon rested a hand on John's shoulder.  "You've had a tough time.  And it doesn't take mystical powers to see you're hurting, friend.  But it's the strangest thing:  there's just not all that much to see."  

The others looked to him for an explanation.  

"Most people have a lot of baggage that comes through but John here..."  

Wesley approached the group and got a better view of the scrunched look of concern on Lorne's face.

"It's as if there's a big wall blocking his past and the future... well, it's as if there's more than one.  It's kinda like he's got a strong melody line with a bit of faded harmony."

"Did you get any sense that he...?" Wesley's question was obvious even without the wide suggestive eyes --- and not only to Lorne.

"He doesn't know anymore than what he's told you," the demon stated as John scowled at the other man.  "Or at least he believes everything's he's told you.  Some of it doesn't connect, and maybe that's the reason for the future duet.  You gotta find a way to break down that wall.  Find a key to open that lock.  Some fire to melt that i— Hey, I need a drink.  You look like you could use one too, friend," Lorne said to John, taking the fragile man by the elbow and leading him to the kitchenette.

As the tall flamboyant demon dug in the fridge, John simply stood afraid to consider what he'd be offered.  Vampires, demons:  who knew what was in that fridge?  But when the creature pulled the bottle of vodka out of the freezer, John breathed a sigh of relief.

"Sea Breeze?"

"Thanks, no.  But the Stolichnaya..."  John raised an eager brow.  "I could do with a straight shot." 

Lorne poured a generous splash and handed the shaken man the glass.  "I didn't want to say anything in front of the whole group, but your friend... Lady-friend, the one that's been such a part of your life the last while... I'm sorry."

"What's that now?" John asked before downing the shot.

"I'm sorry about what happened to her," the demon elaborated.  "Sorry that she died."  

"Ju...?"  Stunned, John dropped the glass which shattered at his feet.  "Bloody he—" he choked as he grabbed his head, pushing his fingers up through his hair then scraping the nails across his scalp to curl his hands into fists.  Devastated, he slid down the wall.

Before the man fell to the floor, Lorne grabbed him to hold him up out of the shards of glass.  "Come on.  Let's get you outta here."

When the pair appeared back in the lobby, the others were concerned about the state of the visitor.  

"Guess I can't hold my liquor," he said hoping to calm the others.  

"Lorne, could you contact that friend of yours?  The one who deals in memory spells," Wesley suggested.  "P'rhaps she could—"

"Hey, lets not go repeatin' what happened the last time," Gunn grumbled.

"I've got a better idea," Lorne said cavalierly.  "Why don't we take him into Wolfram and Hart and have the Psyche Department remove his block?"  To which everyone had a reply.

"Beg your pardon?"

"What?"

"Not sure I'm likin' the sound of that, mate." 

"Huh?"

"That firm might be evil—"  Lorne caught the look of apprehension that immediately crossed John's face.  "Might have been evil," he corrected, "but they sure know a thing or two about efficiency.  They pull out all sorts of things—"  He'd done it again, he realized as John swallowed hard.  "Shyness.  Fear of the dark.  Carpal tunnel syndrome."

Fred chimed in, "I heard that Madeline Chu in accounting, she had her ennui removed."

"There you go.  I'm sure they can take out whatever it is that's blocking your memory.  You'll be in and out in twenty minutes.  And the best thing..."

"No scarring?" Faith joked.

"Besides that," the demon replied with a grin.  "If afterward you find out that ignorance really was bliss, they can always shove the block right back in." 

... Twenty-four:  RECONSIDER


	24. Reconsider

Twenty-four:  RECONSIDER 

"Where's John?" asked Fred of the others in the Hyperion lobby when she came from the kitchen with snacks.  

Barely looking up from the new foosball table to which he and Wes had been attached for half an hour, Gunn replied, "He was here a minute ago." 

As he took an exaggerated shot, Wesley's cell phone rang.  

"Yeah!  Take that English!"

"I guess I'll have to," Wes countered as he pulled the phone from his pocket.  "Wyndham-Pryce here."

At the same time, Faith, who was lounging on the couch, remote in hand channel surfing, remarked, "He was readin' the paper then he took off."

"What do you mean 'he took off'?"  Fred went to the messy pile of newsprint tossed on the coffee table.  "Which way did he go?  How could you just let him leave?"

"Hey, chill.  I didn' know he was a prisoner."

"What's the trouble, Sweetie Pie?" Lorne crooned as he swept in with drinks.  

Rifling through the scattered sheets, Fred exclaimed, "It's John.  He's gone."

"And you thought you'd find him in the newspaper?"

"Of course not.  But supposedly he was reading the paper right before he left," she explained, holding up the rumpled pages.  "I just thought maybe something in here set him off."

"Well, I think you'll find that's the problem right there," the demon noted pointing a free-finger to the page facing him as he raised his glass.  

Fred shuffled the newspaper around to see about what Lorne was talking.  Bewildered, she muttered, "I don't see anything that-"

"It's this one," Lorne clarified.  

"'Teen Violence:  Holiday Season Spike or Terrifying Trend'?  He's awfully sensitive, isn't he?" Fred remarked.  "I mean I understand that he cares about people and he feels responsible for the things that he might have done when he was a vampire but I don't see how-"

"Fred, it's a lot more personal," Lorne explained, putting an arm around the lithe woman.  "The nurse in this article, the one that died, she was his friend."

"Oh my gosh.  I had no idea."  Tossing down the newspaper, again she asked Faith, "Which way did he go?"

Casually, the Slayer waved the remote in the direction of the courtyard and mumbled, "That way."

As Fred and Lorne crossed the lobby to the courtyard stairs, Wesley marched to the office and closed the door behind him.  

Newly opponent-less, Gunn asked, "Hey Faith, you wanna play?" 

***

"Alright Rupert," Wesley began sharply.  "What's so important that we have to discuss it this instant?"

"It's the Council; we're having a meeting to review the current year's developments and to plan for the coming year," Giles explained.

"I've already told you that I don't have the time, given my new responsibilities."

"Yes, I understand that," conceded Giles reluctantly.  "I was rather hoping you might use some of the connections you've gained since taking up those new responsibilities to provide some much needed assistance to the Council."

"And why would I want to help the Council?" Wesley snapped.

"The Slayers... We're in dire need of some assistance," Giles explained.  

The other man huffed, "And what would you have me do about that?  I neither work for the Council nor have I any desire to help with your shoddy training."

"S'ppose that's to be expected," the Council Head sneered, "given your venture off the path of fighting evil to oversee one of its bastions."

"That's not what I'm doing here," the other man insisted, "and really rather beside the point.  Tell me, what exactly is it you want from me?"

"Well, first and foremost, at the moment we could use research materials.  I know you've access to virtually every imaginable text --- including, I gather, a number of volumes which belonged to the former Council," Giles noted scornfully.  "In lieu of an outright donation of the original books, p'rhaps you'd consider providing us with some of your templates?"

"Well, I suppose that if I were so inclined, I could do as you ask however..." Wesley took a long pause.  "Outside of the Wolfram and Hart offices, the templates are simply large volumes of blank pages."

"I see," grumbled a disappointed Giles.  

"But even if the volumes were readable elsewhere, I'm not certain I'd be wiling to turn them over to the Council."

"Oh?  And might I ask why not?" Giles inquired. 

Wesley chuckled sarcastically.  "Do you really need to?  I have access to these materials because of my association with a demon; a demon who was murdered by your reckless Slayers because you didn't see fit to explain the subtleties of good and evil."

"Ah yes, let's drag that up again."  Frustrated, Giles slammed an angry hand down on the desk.  "The Council, as you well know, was established to train Slayers to kill vampires and other demons.  The only major difference between the Council of Old and the New is that we are responsible to train and supervise dozens more Slayers with a small fraction of the man-power they had."

"Yes, well-"

"Aren't you being terribly hypocritical, Wesley?" Giles groused.  

"Sorry?"

"I seem to recall a time when we asked for help to save Angel and you refused because the Council didn't help vampires," said Giles coolly.  "Yet here you are condemning me for not reprimanding these Slayers for killing one."

"I hardly think-"

Giles barely paused to take a breath and completely ignored the other man's attempt to provide an argument.  "These girls kill vampires and demons because it is their duty to do so.  They haven't the luxury of sitting down around board room tables and discussing the worth of any given foe; they must think on their feet and react accordingly."

"If they'd-"

"And in case you'd forgotten, Angel was a vampire- a demon, and not all that long ago, evil, thanks in part to your lot," Giles accused.  "While I may be sorry that they killed him, I'll not be made to apologize for teaching these girls to identify and kill vampires.  If these Slayers begin to second guess their instincts, they'll be the ones who wind up dead.  Even you can't argue with that."

"I suppose not, but-"

"What's done is done.  There's nothing any of us can do to turn back time."  Then Giles added, "But if you feel strongly enough about considering the value of demons, why not provide some insight at our meeting?"

***

"John?" called Fred softly to the man sitting in a sunny spot in the Hyperion's courtyard.  

He turned his head half-way to acknowledge that he'd heard her but said nothing before shifting his face back to the sun.  

With concern, Fred glanced for advice to Lorne who shrugged uncertainly.  She took a deep breath, grabbed the demon's arm, and headed down the steps to sit beside their troubled guest.  

"You know, I don't remember a time when I couldn't do this," John said thoughtfully when the others were close.  "Do you s'ppose it's because of bein' a vampire and having to stay out o' the sun that I enjoy the warmth now?"  

Lorne and Fred sat awkwardly silent for several minutes as the man remained with eyes closed and his chin up facing the sun.  

For John, it was time he'd have been more at ease spending alone, but he understood the others' want to be a comfort.  "So, what's to be done then?" he finally asked as he turned to face his companions.  "What do I have to do to get this-"  He waved his hand about beside his head.  "- this block sucked out?"

"Oh, I'm sure they don't actually suck it out," Fred comforted.  "They must just-"

"No, they do pretty much suck it out," corrected Lorne.  "Here, I'll call the office and set it up."  

***

Buffy had just finished her nightly routine and climbed into bed when there was a knock on her door.  "Come in."

"Buffy?" Willow said apprehensively.  

"What is it Will?" she asked, motioning for her friend to sit beside her on the bed.

"I wanted to talk to you about... about tomorrow's Council meeting."

"Will, I told you before:  I'm not going; end of story."  Like a child, the Slayer puffed up her chest and folded her arms across it.

"Yeah, um... I know what you said, and I... I understand why you don't want to be a part of this Council, but I really think you should reconsider."  

Buffy raised a questioning brow.  

"It's just... ah... It sounds like there's something pretty bad brewing and Dawn thought that you'd... well, you should be there.  They're evaluating what the Council and new Slayers have done so far.  I'll just bet they haven't been half as successful as you were," Willow said trying to be convincing.  "They'll also be making decisions about the direction the Council's going to take from here.  I'm sure you've got some great ideas!" 

"You're not exactly subtle, Will," Buffy muttered.  "What time?"

"You'll come?" asked Willow optimistically.

***

"I've got a conference call scheduled," Wesley stated.  "You'll look after everything here?"  Fred nodded.

After the Brit boarded the elevator, the rest of the group sat waiting in silence outside Extraction Unit 3 of Wolfram and Hart's Psyche Department facility.  Lorne glanced over to find John staring at him --- again.

"Er... sorry," the man said.  "Ah... Is that Roberto Cavalli?"

Rubbing his thumbs down his lapels, the demon replied, "Good eye."  

John nodded awkwardly then directed his attention elsewhere.  To his dismay, he found himself eye-to-eye with another of his new acquaintances.

"You sure you wanna do this?" Faith asked.  "I mean, you know what Spike was, right?"

Turning his eyes to the floor, John relied glumly, "Yeah, I know."

"Just sayin'... I've done some pretty bad things in my life," the dark Slayer confessed.  "Stuff I wouldn't wanna get back if I could forget it.  I just thought... well, are you really sure you wanna remember a hundred years of killin'?"

"We're ready for him," a man in a white coat said.

"C'mon handsome," Lorne crooned with a flourish of his hand.  "There's no turning back now."

Determinedly, the would-be lab-rat pushed himself up from the safe comfortable chair on which he'd been seated, sauntered with the rest of the group in-tow toward the waiting man then all disappeared behind the pair of swinging doors.

... Twenty-five:  RE-ASSEMBLE


	25. Reassemble

Twenty-five:  RE-ASSEMBLE 

"So ah... what do we do now?" inquired John from where he'd been seated in the dentist-style chair.

One of the lab-coats handed him a clipboard and a pen.  "Before we get started, we'll need you to fill out some forms."  

John turned to the man and raised an inquisitive brow.  

"Standard legal waiver," the man explained, "and some basic health forms.  Just some questions about your general health and medical history."

"Ah..."  John held his shoulders in a shrug.  

"Yes, Mr. Smith, we realize that part of your trouble is you don't remember your life.  Do the best you can," the man suggested.  "It's all just a technicality anyway.  The procedure is harmless.  Well... pretty much."  

Taking a hard gulp for courage, John set to completing the forms while the two Wolfram and Hart Psyche Department technicians wired him to monitors and checked their equipment.

"Yeah, well... Looks like you guys got everything under control here."  Pointing a fist with an outstretched thumb toward the door, Faith said, "I'm gonna go see how Wes is doin'."

"Hang on.  I'll come with."  Turning to Fred and John, Gunn explained, "I've got some stuff to check on in my office."

"No worries, mate."  John wasn't sure he really wanted a room full of people around while his brain was getting sucked out, so he didn't mind the others with their excuses.

"We're ready," the technician stated.  

"Are you absolutely sure you wanna do this, John?" asked Fred with concern.

"Don't really have much left in this life," John replied with a sad matter-of-factness as he thought of Jude.  "Kinda need to know what happened in my other."  He leaned forward in his chair to peer around the slender woman at the technician.  "Let's do this," John said holding out the clipboard.

After taking the forms and handing them to his associate, the lab tech strapped John's arms to the rests of the chair.  "It's just a precaution; we don't want you to jerk around and disconnect the equipment."  When he'd fastened John's head-support, the tech turned to Fred.  "Ah... Ms. Burkle?"  Then he motioned with a few waves of his hand for Fred to step clear of the procedure space as the man at the computer began to press buttons and flip switches.  

John sat nervously waiting for something to happen, wondering if whatever these quacks were going to do to him would work; wondering who he'd be when they were finished.  Suddenly, an alarm went off; John, but for the restraints, would have leapt from the seat.

"Sorry.  Special ring for some of my more high-strung clients."  Lorne grimaced as he pulled his cell-phone from his suit jacket pocket.  "Whitney honey," he greeted the caller while apologizing again to John with a half-smile and a shrug.  "Yeah, I've got a team on that..." he assured as he headed for the door, "but I'm not a miracle worker..."

John sighed then settled back into the chair, but was far from relaxed when the technician announced, "Here we go.  In three...  Two...  One..."

***

As the anticipated dozen Watchers' Council meeting attendees took their seats around the meeting table, Dawn and the office administrator confirmed the computer links of those participating in the meeting via web-cams.  

With a nod from the young women, Andrew positioned himself at the head of the room.  In front of him on the table was a neatly arranged stack of colour coordinated cue cards, some folders and an assortment of dry-erase markers; behind him on the wall, his map series; at easy access, he had a pair of large white-boards on wheels; in his hand, he held a laser pointer.  Dressed in a three piece wool tweed suit, linen shirt and plaid tie, he was ready.  "Tweed's kinda ichy," he muttered under his breath before clearing his throat.  "I'd like to thank you all for being here.  I know for some of you, it wasn't easy getting here.  Mr. Mabbissi."  He nodded appreciatively to one of the computers.  "Ms. Chen..."  Andrew greeted several others before finishing with, "Mr. Wydham-Pryce, thanks for joining us."

Reaching for one of the folders, the young man said, "I hope you've all received copies of my- er... ah... the Council's year-end report."  He grinned abashedly, glancing over at Mr. Giles who appeared unconcerned by the slip.  "It details the circumstances surrounding the creation of the new Slayers and the new Council, and it-"

With a thud of her bag against the doorframe and a rattle of the window-glass, Buffy stumbled into the meeting chamber.  "Sorry," she mumbled half-heartedly.

"Oh, Buffy.  I'm glad you made it."  Andrew beamed.  "Everyone, this is Buffy Summers:  the woman without whom none of us would be here today."  The young man encouraged a brief round of applause before pointing to an available seat in which the Slayer could sit.  

"As I was saying, the package you've received discusses how the new Slayers were activated and outlines what the Council has done since then.  There's a section which includes world sector maps like these," he explained waving his laser pointer at the six large maps.  "If you'll direct your attention to Map A-One... This is an approximation of the Slayer-slash-Demon situation shortly after the Sunnydale Hellmouth was collapsed.  For the most part, we didn't know about Slayers besides the ones that actually came out of the Hellmouth.  I mean, we knew others probably existed, but we didn't know any details.  Map A-Two, shows the situation at the beginning of June after we'd contracted with the Westbury Coven to formally seek out new Slayers.  You'll note the marked increase in both the total number of Slayers and in the number the Council had been in contact with."  

Andrew was very serious during his presentation which amused Dawn since his maps included happy-face stickers with bloody fangs or horns scribbled onto them and he directed attention to various points on the map as if he were a game-show prize girl showing off new stereo equipment or a dining room suite.  

"Map A-Three shows the state of the world after two months of the new Council's... ah... control.  A-Four is two months later --- or four months after the current Council was established."  The illustration showed still more identified Slayers and a decrease in the demon population particularly in large urban areas.  "This one, A-Five, is pretty much current.  And Map A-Six gives an estimate of what the world may be like some time in the future."  Again more Slayers and still fewer demons.  There was an impressed buzz in the air as various attendees commented to their seatmates.  

"Um... Before we get too... ah... I think..." Andrew stammered, nervous about the less-than-positive news to come.  "Ah... maybe we should take a look at the details in your packages..."

***

It all came so quickly.  Literally with the flip of a switch (or two or three), 150 years of memories flooded his mind.  A great jumble of images and emotions.  Highs and lows.  Violent and tender.  Drusilla.  Buffy.  Angel.  Countless nameless victims.  Dawn.  Jude.  His mum.  Instinctively, he tried to grab his head as he closed his eyes to stop the barrage, but with his arms strapped to the chair he couldn't move and closing his eyes did nothing to eliminate the visions.  He was shrieking --- and didn't even realize it.  He couldn't hear or see anything but his memories.

"What the heck's happening to him?" Fred demanded of the technicians.  "Stop this!  Stop it now!"

"I'm sorry, Ms. Burkle.  There's nothing we can do."

"We can't abort the procedure midstream," the man at the computer explained.  "Doing so might cause irreparable damage.  You have to realize that Mr. Smith here is being opened up to years of memories in a very short time."  

"You ever see the Matrix?" the other man asked.  "I expect it's kinda like that... only without the kung fu."  

He paused then his associate speculated, "Hey... What if there is kung fu?"

"Good thing we've got him pinned down."  

The pair of lab techs chuckled, but Fred wasn't amused.

"But you're not putting anything in his head?" she asked suspiciously.  

"Oh no.  We're just removing the memory block," the tech assured.  "But to him it's going to seem similar."

"A big rush of information," the other added.  "When the procedure's completed, I'd recommend a sedative.  Some good solid sleep and he should wake up fine."

The screaming was replaced by heavy gasps for breath then the tension appeared to ease from John's body.

"We're just about done here," the computer technician said as he turned back to his control panel.  After a nod, his colleague went removing the electrodes and other equipment from their subject.  

At the feel of someone's touch, John's wild eyes flew open and he jolted, causing the restraints to dig into the flesh of his forearms.  He hissed partly out of fear, partly pain.  

"John?" Fred cooed softly.  "It's OK... You take it easy now.  Everything's gonna be fine."

His eyes darted around the room as he desperately tried to orient himself.  John.  Spike.  William.  His three incarnations were colliding --- and all of them were freaking out.

"Holy shit!" exclaimed the technician with exaggerated facial movement.  "Look, Ms. Burkle.  Like I said:  a sedative would be a good idea.  Let him sleep it off."

... Supplement:  REPORT

Author's notes: OK, this next bit isn't really a chapter, but it should provide some details as to what's up in the world. 


	26. Supplement Report

Supplement  REPORT

23 December 2003

OVERVIEW:

In the past seven months, in spite of our best efforts we were unable to locate, train and educate all of the new Slayers.  Estimates as to the actual number of Slayers activated following the release of the power of the Slayer Scythe on 20 May 2003 range from 1000 to 1300**.  

Number specifically identified:  550

Council members have been in contact with: 220*.

Of these, 100* are currently involved with the Council.

** Figures are approximations to the nearest 100.

*Figures have been rounded to the nearest 10.  

N.B. The specific identify and names of Slayers have been removed from this document.

BREAKDOWN OF CONTACTED SLAYERS (220):

- 2 experienced senior Slayers (not currently serving the Council)

-18 Sunnydale veteran slayers, varying degrees of formal training (which may include fighting techniques, weapon instruction, demonology and mythology)

-40* new Slayers given accelerated Council training at the New Academy outside of London (including fighting and weapon instruction, demonology, mythology, problem solving skills and psychological assessments); 

-20* in our mentoring program given field-based instruction from more experienced Slayers; 

-20* currently involved in our Watchers' Trainee program receiving training from WTs.

-40* Missing-in-action (details to follow);

-60* Confirmed dead (details to follow);

-40* held in civil/military custody for crimes;

-10* pursuing other interests.

SECTOR REPORT OVERVIEW:

Continental European Sector

Sofia, Sofija Province

Bulgaria

While on retreat, a group of European Slayers and Watcher-Trainees meeting in Bulgaria were overcome by demonic forces.  Two escapees returned to Head Office in London.  They have been unable to speak of the events surrounding the incident and are under constant surveillance.

MIA:  5 Slayers; 3 Watcher-Trainees

Eastern African Sector

Khartoum 

Sudan

Reports indicate significant demon population fleeing to the region seeking safety before journeying into the Sahara desert Hellmouth.  Several mystics have also made their way to the area to aid (and profit from) the evacuation of demon refugees.

MIA:  n/a

Recommendation:  Dispatch team of Slayers to confirm evacuation.

Western African Sector

Tidjikja, Tagant

Mauritania

A West African warlord who has an unusual interest in recruiting young women into their armies has altered the course of the area's civil war.  An uprising of defiant women in the region has resulted in the slaughter of hundreds of men and boys.

MIA:  3

Confirmed Dead:  2 Watcher-Trainees

Note:  We suspect additional Slayers not registered with the Council to be involved.

West-Asian Sector

No details.  Unable to establish Watchers in this area.

East-Asian Sector

Nanjing, Jiangsu Province 

China

Other Far Eastern Slayers gathered for a conference at near the Mausoleum of Dr. Sun Yat-Sen.  Shortly after their arrival, the facility was gassed.  We have no confirmation, but believe the Slayers have been indoctrinated by the secret police.  

MIA:  13 / 1 Watcher, 4 WTs

Pacific Rim Sector

Hong Kong, Guangdong Province

China

Slayer-led faction has allied itself with a wealthy business cartel exchanging their services for untold wealth.  The demon population seems on the rise as is fear within the human population.

MIA:  7

Confirmed Dead:  1 Watcher, 3 WTs

Oceanian Sector

Brisbane, Queensland

Australia

The demon population in urban areas of both Australia and New Zealand has been virtually eliminated.  

Recommendation:  Relocate majority of Slayers maintaining only a small team to deter further uprisings.

MIA:  0

Western North American Sector

Los Angeles, California 

United States of America.

After successfully destroying the prophesied Beast of Amalfi, a group of Slayers turned their attention to the general demon population.  Demons of all species and orientation (evil, neutral, and good) are fleeing the area.  

MIA:  0

Eastern North American Sector

New York, New York

United States of America.

A group of Slayers was absorbed into the areas street gangs and their turf wars.  

MIA:  6

Confirmed Dead:  1 Watcher

Montreal, Quebec

Canada

A group of Slayer-lead demon-hunters eradicated the province's demon-infiltrated motorcycle clubs.  Instead of shutting down the "business interests" of the clubs, the faction now oversees a multi-million dollar drug and prostitution circle using violence, extortion and fear to enforce its will.

MIA:  4

COUNCIL SLAYERS STATUS TO DATE (23 December 2003):  

WORLD-WIDE TOTAL MISSING-IN-ACTION:  38 

WORLD-WIDE CONFIRMED DEAD:  63^ (plus an additional 6 Watchers/W-Trainees)

^since invocation of Power Release 20 May 2003

BREAKDOWN OF CONFIRMED DEATHS:  

-Sunnydale battle:  18

-Elsewhere in the line of duty:  15

-In politically-based military conflicts:  17

-In non-military conflicts:  6

-Accidental death:  5

-Natural causes: 2

These figures do not include Slayers listed as "Missing in Action".

An additional 42 Slayers are in confirmed police or military custody accused of various violent acts.  None of these Slayers are Council-trained.  We are uncertain as to the actual number of Slayers in custody world-wide.

As a result of time, resource and man-power limitations, at least 80% of the world's Slayers have been unsupervised and have even gone uninformed of their status change since 20 May 2003.  We fear that because many were unaware of their power and others were unable to properly direct it, thousands of acts of unnecessary violence resulting in severe injury and /or death (both intentional and accidental) have befallen not only the Earth's demon population but also its human one.  

In the past 6 months, violent crime and homicide rates have increased by between approximately 50% (in regions with already high rates) and 200% (in previously low-rated areas).  However, there has been no significant increase in the number of firearm-related crime --- except as regards theft of firearms.  Most of the increases have been attributed to suffocation, blunt instrument trauma, stabbings, and other hand-to-hand assault.  

A large portion of these increases has been in the area domestic abuse (resulting in the deaths or severe injury of spouses, parents, siblings and/or children) and school-"bullying" (resulting in the deaths or severe injury by children as young as 5).

COUNCIL BREAKDOWN:

Head Office:  employs 1 Senior Director, 5 Associate Directors (advisory capacity/stipends only); 2 Associates, 4 (Part-time) Clerical Staff.

Academy:  employs 11 (Part-time) instructors, 2 Clerical Staff.

In the Field:  10 Watchers, 7 Watcher-Trainees (stipends only).

Services Currently Contracted Out:  Weapons development and acquisition; Library; Transportation; Slayer Searches, Janitorial.

CONCLUSION:

The resources currently available to the Council (including moneys, research materials, weapons, and man-power) are insufficient to support the current world situation.  

Slayers left unsupervised by the Council stand an 85% greater chance of falling victim to the dark-side of their power.   Slayers who've fallen under the control of militant groups/gangs/etc stand a 97% greater chance.

Although we suppose that most initial acts of violence causing severe injury and/or death were accidental (i.e. girls/women unaware of their newly acquired strength), multiple-repeat offenders have clearly been using their power for personal gain of money/goods/prestige/political-type power/etc.

RECOMMENDATION:

Something must be done as soon as possible to gain control of the Slayers and/or of their power. 

… 26 RECOMMENDATIONS


	27. 26 Recommendations

Twenty-six:  RECOMMENDATIONS 

"So we agree the problem is numbers?" asked Mr. Simmons, one of the Council's directors.  "There aren't enough Watchers to keep a rein on these Slayers?"

A dignified-looking white-haired man, who'd been part of the former regime, spoke up, "If that's the case, why not hire more?"

"Yeah... um... At the moment, we're barely scraping by," Andrew explained.  "It's cost a lot of money just setting up.  You know, buying books and equipment.  Renting out office space.  Travel expenses.  We pretty much used up all the Old Council's liquid assets."

"We 'ave been very fortunate to find benefactors willing to donate portions of deir estates," stated Mr. Lechateau, another director, patting the older fellow on the shoulder.

"That's true.  If it weren't for the Harrington-Smythes," Andrew said, smiling appreciatively at Director Harrington-Smythe, "opening up their estate in Essex to house the Academy, we'd be even worse off.  The fact is: we need more money.  We hardly have enough to pay the employees we've already got, so hiring more is pretty much out of the question."  

"And no new hires means we can't expand our training program or support in the field to include more Slayers," the Council's other associate concluded.  "Nor will it encourage new Watcher Trainees, if there's no guarantee of gainful employment to follow graduation."

"Alright.  So we can't hire more," conceded Harrington-Smythe.  "Why can't the existing Watchers and Trainees take on more Slayers."

"No disrespect intended," interjected Field Watcher Mabbissi, "but I am already overseein' twelve Slayas.  I don't know about de other Watchas, but I spend more time travelling from one Slaya to de next, dan I can actually workin' wit' dem."

"Yes, our time is already spread too thinly," Ms. Chen, the Chinese Watcher argued.

"Perhaps if we found some more sources for financial assistance," suggested Mr. Simmons, "we could-"

"Money isn't the most immediate concern," snapped Giles.  "The more pressing problem is that we've far too many Slayers, the vast majority of whom are completely out of control."  

The rest of the group immediately quieted.  

"The Slayers are out of control," Simmons reiterated.  "Haven't we a policy in place to deal with such a situation?"

"Indeed.  We should do as we've always done:  round them up; rehabilitate those who can be," Harrington-Smythe stated plainly, "and retire the others."

Dawn, who'd been listening intently to the discussion, repeated the phrase to herself several times, "Retire them."  Her face dropped and she blurted, "You mean kill them!  You're going to force the ones you can, to play nice and the rest you're gonna kill!"

Amidst the reactionary outbursts of the attendees, Andrew tried to refocus the group's attention.  "Hey.  Everybody.  Let's calm down.  I'm sure that even if... um... that's what the Director was saying, 'retiring' Slayers would be a last resort.  Every effort would be made to-"

"We're looking at hundreds of Slayers with no ties to the Council," Giles broke in.  "We simply haven't the facilities or the man-power to undertake such a broad-based plan of action.  In the past, as I'm sure some of you know, it took considerable man-power to assume and maintain custody of just one girl.  Even when there were only two Slayers and the current ratio of Slayers-to-Watchers was reversed, the Council wasn't able to control both of them."  

From where she sat, out of the range of the video camera on Wesley's computer, Faith huffed and frowned as she slumped back into her chair.  

After a quick glance to her, Wesley turned back to the monitor and argued, "To be accurate, the Council didn't have control of either of the Slayers at that time.  Each had... taken up her own agenda."

"Semantics," Giles discounted.  "The point remains that even with only two Slayers, the Council had difficulty controlling them.  Now we've far more who've..."  He paused dramatically before slyly rephrasing his former colleague's words, "taken up their own agendas."

"Surely we aren't going to eliminate all the Slayers," Chen insisted, "simply because of man-power issues or because some have gone wild."

Willow looked sympathetically at Buffy, who sat stoically staring at her open report package on the table.  "We don't know if they've 'gone wild'.  And those other two Slayers," she noted with an edge of annoyance at their "polite" refusal to use names, "the ones who left the Old Council --- I happen to know for a fact that at least one was actively fighting demons and using good judgement.  She just wasn't following the orders of an outdated Council that knew less about actually slaying than she did."  Glancing again to her friend, Willow noticed Buffy still hadn't made any significant movement.

"In any event," Giles said with a subtle glare in Buffy's direction.  "There are now one thousand more individuals... being pulled in all directions...  Since the prospect of contacting and assessing each of these Slayers is unfeasible, I think the best course of action would be to recapture the power."

"Would we do that on an individual basis?" asked a voice via computer.

Another countered, "But that brings us back to the question of man-power and time.  It could take years for us to find them all.  We'd need to establish whether they'd be candidates for rehabilitation and-"

"No.  It would be best if we took control of all of the power until such time as the girls can be placed under the Council's supervision," Giles declared.  "All the power, all at once."

"Hey, whoa."  Faith pushed into Wesley's camera space.  "Maybe it's not my place to say but ya can't do that."

The others strained to view her in the monitor.  

"I mean, yeah, it sounds lame, but this is a parta me.  And yeah, maybe I haven't exactly been toein' the party line all this time but... I been fightin' vamps and demons," she insisted.

"We can't just take back the power anyway," Willow argued.  "We don't know whether it can be done safely."

Sternly, Giles reminded the witch, "You've taken power before."

Willow had to do a double-take to see if it was in fact Giles who'd raised that point.  "Yeah, and I...  Well, that's why I'm not sure if it can be done without somebody getting hurt."  With a scowl at Giles, she asked, "If we were to give this a try, how would you suggest doing it?"  She leaned back in her chair crossing her arms defiantly at her chest, making it clear she wouldn't be party to such a plan.

After removing his glasses, Giles calmly stated, "I know a number of individuals-"

Mabbissi wanted to know, "Ms. Rosenberg, are you sayin' dat recapturing de power could kill dese girls?"

"It's possible," the witch acknowledged.  "But even if it doesn't kill them, we could still be putting them in grave danger.  Doing a blanket-spell like that... we wouldn't know what's happening to them when we enact it; they could be in the middle of a demon fight.  They'd be defenceless then."  

The meeting attendees made various gestures and facial expressions to display their concern, encouraging Willow to continue with her speculation.  

"Besides, we don't know what would happen to the power.  We can't guarantee that it could be contained.  And even if it could, we might not be able to reuse it.  We can't pick and chose who gets to be a Slayer.  The power could become useless."  

As Willow spoke, Buffy stiffly rose from her chair and walked to the door, exiting without looking back.  Distracted, her friend followed behind.

"There's a lot of factors to consider," Andrew agreed.  "I don't think we can predict them all."

"That may be true," Simmons conceded, "but we've a choice between the Slayers and countless innocents."

"And how do we know if these guys --- the ones that would take the power --- could be trusted with it?" Dawn posed.  "I mean, we don't know if we could get it back.  What if they started using it against us?  Or they could sell it or something."  

"That's an excellent point, Dawn.  I would personally oversee the transfer," Giles indicated.  "Perhaps we could return the power to the scythe."

Dawn glanced with concern to where the other young women had disappeared into the hall before turning her attention back to the issue adding, "What if Willow does the spell and goes all black-eyed scary and veiny again?  Or what if she can't do it?  Or the spell doesn't work?"

***

"Buffy?" Willow called softly to her friend, who wandered as if in a trance down the corridor.  

At the sound of the witch's voice, Buffy turned and looked at her with wild wide eyes.  

"Buffy, are you OK?"

"I can't do anything right," she squeaked in reply.

"What are you talking about?"

"This is my fault.  Don't you see!  All of it:  my fault.  Spike-" a tearful Buffy choked.  "Spike saved the world so that I could destroy it.  He died.  Angel... All those other girls in the Hellmouth.  Anya.  Who knows how many innocent people all over the place.  And they're in there now talking about killing all those girls because I forced them to be Slayers."

"You didn't do that alone, Buffy," argued Willow.  "We all went along with your plan."

With a furrowed brow, Buffy fretted, "Yeah, you went along with it.  But you didn't want to do it."

"I was afraid to do it.  Afraid I couldn't. I knew you needed me and I was afraid that I'd fail and we'd all die," the agitated witch explained.  "Buffy, this isn't your fault.  It was literally an apocalyptic situation.  You made a suggestion; we made a decision.  And we saved the world."

But Buffy wasn't listening.  She leaned against the wall.  "Willow... You can do something... something to fix this," she pleaded.  "Take back the power.  You can experiment on me."

"No!  I won't do that," Willow snapped, clenching her fists and turning her back to her friend in frustration.  With a heavy sigh, she softened and returned to Buffy's side.  "We'll find another way."  

When Willow rested a hand on her friend's shoulder, Buffy looked at her questioningly.  

"Remember what Aisling and Bea told you:  you have something important to do.  Some big challenge and this Slayer situation sure seems like a challenge to me.  Buffy, we can do this," Willow insisted, "but you need to pull yourself together.  I know you're hurting but the pain you feel..."  

Though Willow completed her sentence, Buffy was lost for a moment in a memory:  "_...you only can heal by living.  You have to go on living, so one of us is living."_

Determinedly, the Slayer pushed off from the wall and stood tall as she wiped the tears from her eyes.  "You're right, Will.  We can do this.  We have to; I won't let his death be meaningless."  Marching into the meeting room, Buffy thumped her palms on the table and declared, "Here's what we're going to do."

... 27 RE-AWAKENING


	28. 27 Reawaken

Twenty-seven:  RE-AWAKEN 

He came to, tucked up in soft warm sheets.  His head pounded; his body ached; his mouth was gummy; and he had to strain to open his dry eyes.  It was as if he'd woken up after a long weekend bender, but he didn't recall drinking more than a single shot of vodka since arriving in Los Angeles.  After tossing off the linens, he slowly dragged himself to sit at the edge the bed.

"Good mornin' Sleeping Beauty," Lorne greeted from the corner of the room where he lounged with a magazine in a comfortable chair.

"'ave I been out long?"

"Hmm... About a day and a half.  But look at you now," the demon said, spreading his arms widely in John's direction.  "Bright-eyed and bushy-"

Mid-stretch, John groaned, then clutched his back and rubbed his head.  

"Yeah... they said you might be a little stiff afterward.  Can I get you something?" offered Lorne as he rose from his chair.  "Aspirin?  Glass of water?  Full body massage?"

"Buffy?" came a hoarse utterance.

"Well, I don't happen to have one of those handy," replied the demon cheerfully.  "But I'll see what I can do."

With glistening eyes turned to Lorne, the man asked, "But... she's OK?  She's alive?"

Lorne rested a hand on John's shoulder and sat down on the bed beside him.  "She is."  

The man turned away and brushed a tear from his eye.  "So you've seen her?"

"Spike?" Lorne asked, leaning down to catch the man's gaze.  

He nodded, acknowledging his former identity.  

"Well, whadda ya know..." marveled the demon briefly before answering the question.  "Buffy stayed here for a while after Sunnydale."

Spike let out a bitter huff.  "With Angel," he groused, cocking his head to peer sideways at the demon.

"Down the hall actually," Lorne noted with a couple of flicks of his wrist and for a moment Spike felt better.  Then Lorne admitted, "But they were together."

Spike's heart sank, taking his gaze with it to the floor.  He'd spent months searching for her --- and for himself.  He'd rejected a dear friend that he now knew had been in love with him; rejected Jude on the chance that this woman in his dreams might actually love him... still?

Now he remembered her:  Buffy.  He remembered their months together, and their final days and nights.  And he remembered her in Angel's arms, kissing him.

_"No you don't.  But thanks for sayin' it."_

"She did you know," Lorne said sympathetically.  When Spike turned to him with eyes full of question and need, the demon explained, "I read Buffy about a month ago --- like I did you the other day --- and she did love you."

Letting out the breath he'd been holding, Spike looked away again to admire the surroundings.  For a time, the two sat silently until Spike tipped his head back to Lorne and asked, "So, how'd you get the exciting job of babysitting?"

"We've taken turns.  Dear little Fred insisted you shouldn't wake up alone," Lorne explained.  "Sounded great to me:  I got to blow off my meeting with Paris and Nicole."  The demon rolled his eyes dramatically.  "Can you believe they want another season?"  

"Ah... not to be rude, mate, but... Well, I'm awake now."  Spike waved his hands as if to cheer.  "So you've done your job.  You can toddle off."

"Don't you go thinking you're getting off that easily," Lorne scolded.  

Spike cocked his head and raised a brow.  

"I've just gotta know:  do you remember everything?  Did the procedure work?"

"You could say that," the man replied.  "Things are still a bit of a jumble... but it's all there."  He stopped, his brow knitted then he corrected, "Well, almost all."

"What do you mean 'almost'?"

"I remember who I was a couple o' days ago.  And who I was a year ago and for the hundred plus years before that," he explained as he stared without focus across the room.  "I even remember who I was before becomin' a vampire."  Then he looked at Lorne, bewildered.  "But I dunno how I got to be who I am --- or I guess I should say 'what' I am.  How am I alive?  Human again?"

***

"So you've got things all set up here?" Buffy asked Willow as they waited for Dawn to collect the rest of her things.  

"Yep.  The Coven's going to put all their energies into tracking the unknown Slayers.  And we've also contacted a couple of other groups to see if they'll help us," Willow explained.  "I don't know if we'll find all the Slayers, but we should be able to get most."

"We have to try, Will."

From outside, the taxi beeped its horn.  

"Dawn," her sister called up the stairs, "Cab's here.  Let's go!"

***

"So it would seem that you are --- or rather you were --- the prophesied vampire with a soul," explained Wesley glancing from Spike to the large Wolfram and Hart prophecy tome.

"Lemme get this straight," said Spike with disbelief, "I saved the world wearin' that trinket."  

Wes pursed his lips, raised his brow and gave a conciliatory nod.  

"And because some book-"

"Ancient scroll actually.  This is only a copy," Wesley clarified.

"Fine, scroll then," Spike conceded.  "Because some scroll talks about a vampire with a soul fighting apocalyptic battles and fiends and whatnot then becoming human, you figure that's what's happened to me?"

"Shanshu:  it was your destiny," the other man declared.  

"Destiny, eh?"  Baffled by the knowledge, Spike turned and plopped himself down on the edge of the desk.  "So tell me, if you lot have known about this Shanshu bit for what?  Three?  Four years?  Why is it I'm just hearin' about it now?"

Gunn jumped in, "We thought it was about-"

"Angel," Spike exclaimed with a roll of both his eyes and his head as he climbed off the desk and threw his arms in the air.  "Well of course everybody'd assume it was about him.  Self-less do-gooder that he-"

"We had no idea," Wesley said defensively, "that you had a soul until after... well, after you'd apparently died in the collapse of the Hellmouth.  It never even occurred-"

"Hey, I just had a thought," Fred gleefully interrupted.  "What if the Powers that Be had a hand in this all along?"  

The others looked to the woman for clarification.  

Including Spike.  "The Powers that what now?"

"Think about it," she said, being too wrapped up in her own train of thought to notice the man's question.  "What if they gave the gypsies the idea of cursing Angel with a soul so that years down the road it would give Spike the idea that a vampire could actually have one?"

That seemed about as plausible to Spike as anything he'd heard that day.  

"And what if they brought Buffy and Angel together so that Buffy would see that vampires can be more than just evil bloodsuckers?"  

When she found out he couldn't harm people, Buffy had pretty much stopped trying to stake Spike.  She'd eventually even come to depend on him.  Spike shook his head so wanting to deny the possibility that Angel had anything positive to do with his relationship with Buffy, but he couldn't help seeing the logic in Fred's thinking.

"And what if they had it so the curse was unstable in order to keep Buffy and Angel apart so that she and Spike could get together?"  

Now hearing that bit didn't please Spike, so he frowned, pouting.  He'd have preferred to think that it was his charm, good-looks or charisma that attracted Buffy to him.

Then looking at the former vampire, Fred added with a bright smile, almost swooning at the romantic notion, "And Spike did go out and get a soul 'cause he loved her."

Spike unconsciously grimaced and grabbed at his chest.  If only his reasons for seeking a soul had been as simple or as noble as that.  But his soul had made a difference to Buffy personally and, in the end, professionally regardless of his motivation for getting it.

"And for whatever reason," remarked Wesley, "Buffy did choose Spike to wear the amulet."

"Now you see, that's the part I haven't quite figured out," Fred admitted.  "Angel gave the amulet to Buffy, but where'd he get it?  And if it was supposed to be worn by a vampire with a soul, why didn't he wear it himself?"

Leaning back in his chair and raising his hand to his chin, Wes sighed thoughtfully.  "While I can only speculate as to the reasons why Angel wasn't the one to wear it, I have been able to establish that he got the amulet here, at Wolfram and Hart."

The others' mouths gaped in astonishment.  

"Needless to say," added Wesley, "the Firm's motives weren't... entirely altruistic."

"What d' ya mean?" asked Spike, dreading the possibilities.

Seeing the other man's apprehension, Wes assured, "Not to worry.  They don't want anything more from you.  They just wanted to ensure that the Sunnydale Apocalypse didn't interfere with the one they've planned."

"Oh."  Spike wasn't sure why no one else in the room seemed bothered by the fact that they worked for an evil law firm which was apparently planning to destroy the world, but figured if they weren't concerned, he'd try not to be either.  

"In any event... Ultimately the combination of these factors --- and I dare say countless others --- brought you to your destiny," concluded Wesley.

 "So that's it then?" Spike asked apathetically.  "I've achieved my big destiny, got my reward and I'm done?"

***

"There's got to be a way," Giles muttered as he scanned the spines of books in the Council's tiny resource room.  

As the Council Head reached for a text, there was a knock on the open-door coupled with a "Mr. Giles?" which caused the up-tight man to jump.  

"What is it, Andrew?" he demanded, without turning to look toward the door.

"Um... Mail's here," his young assistant replied nervously.  "There's ah... an envelope labeled 'Personal and Confidential' that I thought you'd want to look at right away."

A sly gleam came to Giles' eye at the news.  "Thank you, Andrew.  That'll be all."

***

His destiny?  Had it all really been prophesied?  When they'd first met, Drusilla had implied that he had yet to achieve his true potential.  He was meant to be something --- something great.  Had she seen this then?  Over a century later, after they'd left Sunnydale, she told Spike he tasted of ashes.  Was there a connection?  Did she somehow know that he'd end his vampire existence burning from inside?  Giving his life to save the world?  To save the woman he loved?

"Buffy..." he whispered, his chest aching as he stared across the Hyperion courtyard.

"Spike?  Could I have a word?" Wesley asked.

Spike ran a quick hand through his hair hoping to clear his head, as he pushed off the pillar against which he'd been leaning.  "Sure.  What's up, mate?"

"I wanted to talk to you about... Buffy."

... 28 REUNION


	29. 28 Reunion

Twenty-eight:  REUNION 

"Tell me again why we're doin' this," Gunn said to Wes, as the pair leaned on their elbows against the front desk of the Hyperion watching Fred greet another small group of young women.

Wes cleared his throat, but remained otherwise still.  "It's a favour for Buffy," he replied plainly, having had this conversation several times in the past few days.  "She needed a place to gather Slayers in order to teach them how to effectively use their power."

Gunn raised a finger to make a point.  "But-"

Without taking his eyes off the group of women, Wes continued in monotone, "There are going to be several hundred Slayers.  She needed a large space-"  He broke off suddenly and, squinting thoughtfully, he remarked with a complete change of inflection, "and...um... a lot of bathrooms."

After peering over at the glum looking men, the group of girls burst into giggles.

"Several hundred, huh?" Gunn moaned.

***

"Yo B," Faith hollered across the crowded baggage claim area of Terminal Seven.  

Buffy waved acknowledgement of the other Slayer before turning to the group with which she'd traveled.  "OK, look.  We have to stick together.  The sooner we get out of here the better.  Grab your bags.  I'll be right back."  Briskly Buffy moved through the crowd to where her former rival was waiting.  "Faith."

"How was your trip?"  

Buffy shrugged a shoulder.  "Fine."

With a nod to the group of young women collecting their luggage, Faith grumbled, "Can't believe we're doin' this again."

"Well at least this time we've got lots of bathrooms."

"Ah, B..." Faith hesitated.  "That's not all we've got."

"Huh?"

"Well, you know how Wes said he had to check with that hotel guest they got staying?" she began awkwardly.  "You know, um... 'cause he's kinda jumpy around Slayers."

"Wes didn't mention that part," Buffy remarked.  "What do you mean?  Has this guy had some bad experiences with Slayers?"  She was surprised to think he'd even met any.

Faith chuckled then cleared her throat.  "Um... ye-ah... Some bad experiences," she repeated trying to contain her grin.

Annoyed, Buffy asked, "What's going on?"

***

When Spike came down the stairs to find a lobby full of girls and women of just about every imaginable shape, size and hair colour, he seriously considered turning around and locking himself in his room indefinitely --- or better still, climbing out the window and never looking back.  

But Buffy would be there soon.  

"Should reconsider that window idea," he mumbled, his apprehension about seeing her again verging on terror.  

"Spike!" an enthusiastic voice called.

Searching the group, he caught sight of several waving hands.  With a deep breath, he continued down the stairs and shuffled through the crowd to the small group of familiar faces.  "Ladies," he greeted, trying to maintain a low-key.  

"Faith told us you were here; I just couldn't believe it," squealed Vi.  

The others grinned and nodded.

"Yeah man," said Rona.  "We totally thought you were dead." 

Uncertain as to what exactly Faith had told these Slayers, Spike remarked with a slight tone of sarcasm, "Yeah, well... I guess we all got lucky, eh?"  

The girls laughed and patted Spike and each other on the back.  They introduced him to some of their more recently discovered colleagues and recounted stories of the Hellmouth and of their training with Spike.

***

In front of the Hyperion Hotel, a small group of Slayers climbed out of a taxi-van.  The women and youngest girls quickly made their way to the entrance, but the two teens lagged behind.

"I still don't get what we're doing here," grumbled the tough little brunette.  

"Geez Carrie... do you ever do anything besides bitch?" asked her friend, slinging a pack over her shoulder.

"Do you always have to do what Watcher-man says, Steph?  Don't you ever do anything fun?"

"Well, yeah.  Every now and again I kick your ass," Stephanie noted with a grin.  "And you know why?"

"'cause you're bigger than me?"

"No, 'cause I actually train."

"Well, I got better things to do with my time," Carrie scoffed as she began to wander down the street.

Stephanie grabbed her arm.  "Better things?  You call beating people up and stealing better?  You gotta stop this Carrie.  Before you really hurt someone.  Before you get caught," the girl ranted.  "We're supposed to be keeping a low profile.  We're supposed to be fighting demons."

"Yeah yeah."

"Look.  We're not here on vacation.  We're here 'cause there's some kinda big world crisis.  Don't you wanna be a part of something important?"  

Carrie shrugged apathetically.  

Stephanie huffed and shook her head.  Pulling Carrie by the arm, she headed for the Hotel.  "I said I was bringing you, so you're going."

***

"Spike..." Buffy gasped.  "Spike's at the Hotel?"

"Yeah."

"But... How?  I don't..."  She shook her head, finding what Faith had just told her impossible to believe.  "How?  When?  I..."

"Wanna try and finish one of those questions, B?" Faith asked as she leaned against a pillar and crossed her arms, smirking.

"Are you sure it's him?  I mean, he could be-"

"The First?" Faith finished.  "Nope.  Looks like he's the real deal.  Guess the gang weren't sure at first; that's why they didn't wanna tell you right away," she explained, pushing off the pillar and nodding to the cluster of travelers who were beginning to look impatient, waiting for their leader.  As the pair wandered toward the others, Faith continued, "They did some kinda test at Wolfram and Hart, and Wes is pretty much convinced Spike's some sorta prophecy guy."

"What?"  Buffy was stunned.

"Hey, I dunno.  You'll have to ask him."

As the group made its way to the rented Shuttle, Buffy continued to try to grasp the astounding news.  "When did he get there?  How long has he been in L.A.?"  What she really wanted to know, but was afraid to say aloud was, "Did he ask about me?"

"He's been at the Hotel a week er two," Faith supposed.  

"A week or two!?" snapped Buffy, both surprised and hurt.  "Why didn't anybody tell me?  Why didn't-" 

"Buffy," her former adversary took an uncharacteristically serious and sympathetic tone.  "It wasn't just Fred and Wes and them that didn't know who Spike was; he didn't know either."

"I don't understand."

"He had some kinda amnesia," Faith explained.  "Wes thinks it might have somethin' to do with the Shanshu thing."

Completely confused, Buffy held her head, tangling her fingers in her hair.  "Huh?  What about his shoes?" 

"Huh?"  Faith stopped then corrected, "Oh!  No, not shoes.  Shan-shu is another prophecy.  Somethin' about a vampire with a soul savin' the world and becoming human."

"What?!"  Buffy went pale; her eyes wide with shock.  

"Oh yeah... Did I forget to mention that part?"  Faith grinned apologetically.  "Yeah... So, I guess he's been alive --- like actually alive --- for months.  I dunno many details.  Sorry.  Guess I shouldda asked more questions, huh?"  She shrugged.  "It was just so... weird, ya know?"

Buffy could only imagine.  She bit her lip and tried to stop her head from spinning as she gazed without really seeing through the windshield of the shuttle.  With each passing block, her heart seemed to accelerate and increasingly heavy tears stung her eyes.  Closing her lids, Buffy sent those tears cascading down her cheeks.  Her palms pressed together as if in prayer, she pulled her hands to her lips.  She didn't know what to think; didn't know how to feel; didn't know what she'd do when she saw him again.  

***

As the crowd of Slayers continued to swell, Spike's chest felt increasingly heavy.  He was having trouble breathing and could feel the panicked sweat bead up on his forehead.  With a hard swallow, Spike managed to mumble, "Was...ah... good to see you again.  S'cuse me."  As he lurched around to return to the stairs and his room, he noticed two more familiar figures on the landing just before they disappeared into the group below.  His eyes fixed on that part of the room, Spike nudged his way through the crowd trying to find them.

"You!" he bellowed as he grabbed the little thief he'd encountered weeks earlier then again just before Christmas.  "Where did you get that sweater!?"

"What's it to you?" Carrie sneered.  

It was Jude's sweater; Spike knew it.  It had to be!  Clutching the arms of the girl he was sure had beaten his dear gentle Jude to death, Spike was enraged.  As she shrugged him off, he drew back a fist and cracked the teen across the jaw.  Sometime between the moment he thrust forward his balled hand and the instant his knuckles struck the girl's face, he was hit by an intense jolt of pain.  Clutching his head, he winced, "Bloody he-"  Then he looked up to see Buffy standing just inside the Hotel doors.  "-ell- Oh."

... 29 RESTRAIN

(Not what you were expecting for "Reunion", I'll bet.)


	30. 29 Restrain

Twenty-nine:  RESTRAIN  

Hunched slightly and with his hand still on his head, Spike only moved to cock his head to the side.  As he did so, his jaw dropped along with his hand.  He tried to speak but he could find no words save, "Buffy..."

Buffy couldn't believe her eyes.  Sure, she'd listened to Faith tell her that Spike was alive --- actually alive --- and staying at the Hyperion.  She knew he'd probably be there when they arrived, but somehow seeing him in that moment left her breathless.  

Between the sudden fight and the equally dramatic interchange between the two old... friends, the rest of the group were looking on stunned, murmuring amongst themselves, and trying to figure out what was going on.  But Buffy and Spike weren't moving.

Faith stepped up.  "OK people.  Here's the deal," she began.  "Everybody's gonna get a room, but you gotta share.  The little girls are gonna need babysitters, so somebody's gotta keep track of who likes kids."  

There were some groans from the crowd.  

"Yeah, tell me about it," she mumbled as she rolled her eyes.  "Anyway...  I wanna thank... um... John," she said uncertainly, "for helping demonstrate the new security measures we got here at the Hotel.  It's an anti-violence spell.  Believe me when I tell ya, you're gonna get worse than you give if you mess with it.  And the spell covers the whole property, so play nice.  If you really wanna beat the crap outta each other, you're gonna have to take it out to the street," Faith indicated with a thumb toward the door behind her, before jeering, "If you can get out, that is."

Amidst the panicked "huh"s, several members of the group decided this arrangement wasn't for them and were shoving their ways through to the exits. Once there, they stopped abruptly as if they'd hit an invisible wall.

"What the f-?"  

"We can't get out?!"

"Hey, what's goin' on?"

"Forget it girls.  No one's gettin' outta Hogwart's," Faith explained with arms wide to the Hotel, "until you prove you can handle yourself outta class."  Deliberately she folded her arms across her chest.  "Until then, you're gonna need a hall pass to leave."

"Hogwart's?" asked Vi.  "You saw _Harry Potter_ on the plane too?"

"No, I read the books in the slammer," Faith replied defensively.

"You can't keep us here!" shouted one of the adult women.  

Another voice sneered, "This is like prison!"

Quickly Faith's head snapped to face the girl who'd yelled out.  "Hey, this is nothin' like prison.  In here, you're gonna be safe.  You don't wanna know what prison's really like."  She scanned over the crowd.  "But the way I hear it, summa you were already half-way there."  

Nervously, several in the group looked around.  Were they afraid of the others?  Or afraid of being handed over to the police?

At the same time, Spike turned to glare at Carrie.  

Their gaze broken, Buffy tried to see what had caught his attention.  "Hey, I used to have a sweater like that," she remarked.

Hearing her voice, Spike turned back, blushing, to meet Buffy.

Faith rolled her eyes at the blond then sternly faced the group again.  "Look.  You're not prisoners.  You're not hostages.  You're here to learn how to control your power.  How to be responsible with it," Faith said frankly.  "Um... Buffy?  Maybe you could-"  

The other young woman stood dazed and entirely oblivious to anyone and everything but Spike.  

"Yeah... right," muttered Faith.  "So ah...  We're all really strong, fast.  Me and Buffy, summa the other girls, we know how to handle ourselves.  It can be really hard, believe me, I know.  And summa you have already had a taste of power gone bad.  We gotta put a stop to that.  You can't go around hurtin' people."   

There were some groans and sarcastic chuckles.  

Faith frowned.  "You're not just here to protect those people on the outside; you're here for your own safety too," she cautioned.  "You keep throwin' your power around, people are gonna wanna hunt you down - and I don't just mean the cops or demons."  Finally, Faith raised her hands and decided, "Enougha the lecture.  Not really my thing anyway."  Looking over to the office off the front desk where the men appeared to be hiding out, hoping to avoid the notice by the estrogen convention, Faith yelled, "Yo guys!  Get your asses out here.  You got guests."  Directing the Slayers to the desk, she ordered, "You gals:  line up.  First come, first to get the hell outta the lobby."  

With the masses looked after, Faith turned her attention to the other issue at hand by marching down the stairs grabbing Spike by the arm and dragging him up to Buffy.  "Why don't you two go upstairs or out back or somewhere.  You got lots to talk about.  I'll look after things here."

The shell-shocked pair smiled weakly but appreciatively at Faith before turning their awed gazes back to each other. 

Virtually unnoticed, Faith smirked and shook her head as she stepped around the dazed figures on the landing to descend the remaining stairs and join the crowd of Slayers.

"How's your head?" Buffy asked with a mix of concern and amusement.

"My...?"  Reactively, Spike's hand went back to his head then with a quick comb of his fingers through his hair and a couple of pats, he dropped it again by his side.  "Oh... it's fine."  He smiled.  "Thought for a bit they'd shoved that bloody chip back in there."

Buffy returned Spike's smile but when they found each other's eyes, the smiles faded and their hearts skipped beats.  She bit her lip.  

He swallowed hard then his lips parted ever so slightly as he slowly let out a breath.  Breaking their intense gaze, Spike looked around without actually focusing.  "Ah..."  Directing with his outstretched arm, Spike encouraged Buffy toward the stairs.  

When the two started up, Buffy clutched the railing on the left side of the staircase, while Spike gripped the one on the right.

***

Tossing down his filing, Andrew leaned across his desk to grab the phone.  "Hello?"  

"Andrew?  It's Dawn."

"Oh hi.  How's your trip?"

"Um... I think we've kinda hit a snag," Dawn grumbled.

As he moved around the desk to settle into his chair for what he expected might be a long and important call, he spun around trying to untangle the phone cord.  "They're not paying me enough," he mumbled as his papers tumbled off the end of the desk.

"What?"

"Nothing.  So what's the problem?" he asked.

"Well, we've hardly started but we keep finding girls whose parents won't let us take them," explained Dawn, her frustration clear.  "Willow tries to assure them that everything's gonna be OK and that this is for their safety and whatever, but they're not going for it."

"Hmm..." 

"And then there's a bunch who'll only let the girls go if one of them comes with," she continued.  "Like, I understand why they're concerned:  some of these girls are really young.  But..."

"Oh..."

"Hey, did anybody think about that?" Dawn wondered aloud.  "I kind of assumed 'cause all the Potentials that showed up before were like my age, that all the Slayers would be too.  But some of 'em aren't even in school yet.  And some others have little kids of their own or big deal careers they don't wanna leave."

The young man harrumphed.  "Dawn, I'll make a note of this and run it by Mr. Giles.  He'll have an idea what to do," he insisted.  "Keep us posted."

"Sure.  Bye." 

Andrew replaced the receiver.  "He's not going to be happy to hear this," he grumbled as he got up to go inform the Council Head of the latest developments.

***

They walked silently through the hall, still on opposite sides, afraid to touch.  Afraid to discover the other was only a figment.  

As they approached Angel's room, Buffy's focus shifted.  "No... no... no..." Buffy repeated under her breath dreading that Spike would stop at Angel's door.  

Then he did.  

Halting abruptly, she closed her eyes and cursed softly, "Shit."  She couldn't go in.  Not into Angel's room.  Not with him gone.  Not with Spike.  It was just... wrong.  With her chin to her chest, she opened her eyes to look at him through her lashes.  "Spike, I..."

But she didn't need to explain; he understood.  "Um...  This is my room," he said pointing to the door opposite Angel's.  Not since he woke up after the procedure had Spike been able to use the vampire's room except to scavenge for wardrobe changes and toiletries.  Once things had settled down a bit and he had a chance to get his life in order, he'd stop that too.

Buffy jumped out of the way as he reached for the door knob.  "Oh, sorry."  

The door creaked dramatically when he pushed it open.  Meeting Buffy's face again, he gave a nod to welcome her inside.

***

Giles removed his glasses.  "What is it now, Andrew?" he asked, as he rubbed his head.  For hours, he'd been pouring over papers and rifling through books.  He'd even spent time trying searches on the internet.

"Dawn just called from the States," he replied.  "She and Willow have been tracking Slayers on the east coast."

"And?" the other man sighed.  "How's that going, then?"

"Not well, I'm afraid."

Giles lifted his head to his young associate and raised an inquisitive brow.

"Um... They're having trouble convincing some of the Slayers or their parents to go along with this plan," Andrew explained. 

"I see."  Rubbing his thumb across his jaw, the Council Head leaned back in his chair.  "I can't say this comes as a complete surprise.  The Council has had similar problems in the past.  That, you see, is why I insisted we continue to look for other options whilst giving Buffy some time to oversee her plan."

"Oh, right," Andrew acknowledged as if he'd believed all along that it would be necessary to have alternatives to Buffy's proposal.  "Is that what you're working on now?"

Maintaining a look of superiority, Giles simply stated, "I am."

"Do you need any help?" Andrew, ever the helpful assistant, offered rushing to his boss' desk.

Taken aback, Giles slammed shut the book he'd been reviewing.  "You just see to coordinating the current plan, I'll investigate alternatives."

After a quick scan of the papers and computer screen, Andrew remarked, "Oh... you're looking at the scythe.  And that Caleb guy?"

Shiftily, but trying to sound unconcerned, the older man explained, "Just thought if I could establish what exactly Caleb planned to do with the scythe that might give us some insight."

"Oh.  OK."  Andrew paused a moment, smiling and nodding understandingly.  "Well, I'll let you get back to that then," he said as he backed toward the door.  "Just give me a call if you need anything."  Pulling the door closed behind him, the young associate disappeared into the hall.

"Oh thank god," Giles muttered as he turned back to his research.

***

Spike's room was decidedly simpler than Angel's --- which stood to reason since he was only a guest.  It was smaller, just a basic room rather than a suite, and it hadn't been redecorated, Buffy supposed, in decades.  Pivoting suddenly on her heel, she found herself almost buried in Spike's chest.  "Oh!" she squeaked in surprise.

"Sorry," he mumbled, taking a painfully self-conscious step back.

Mentally Buffy chided herself for making him feel awkward.  "No, Spike please.  It was my fault."  She crossed the small room, looking for Spike's approval before sitting on the end of his bed.

Cautiously, he crept forward to stand opposite Buffy then he leaned back against the wall, trying to appear at ease.

Neither of them spoke for several minutes.

"So, um... Spike?" she broke into the silence.  "Where have you been?"

As he slowly lifted his eyes from the floor to meet Buffy's, they filled with tears.  With her so close, apparently concerned about him, Spike was shattered.  "Lost."  Dropping to his knees in front of her, he raised his hands to cover his face.  "I've been so lost," he sobbed.

Buffy's heart ached for him.  Empathetic tears stung in her eyes.  Tentatively, she extended her hand.  At the moment her hand first touched him, she twitched ever so slightly, surprised that he was really there.  When she began to stroke his head, Spike dropped his hands to her knees and looked up at her through his glossy eyes.  

Her gentleness left him bewildered.  Her presence gave him such a sense of completeness.  When he gazed into her warm olive eyes, his lips quivered and he had to look away.  When she leaned forward, pulling his head to her chest, he wrapped his arms at her waist and both were lost in the cathartic flow of tears and soft incoherent whispers.

... Interlude:  RESPITE


	31. 30 Recapitulate

Thirty:  RECAPITULATE 

In the shower, Spike was angry and hurt.  "You pathetic sod.  Let yourself get sucked in again," he chided himself.  Moments earlier, he'd awoken:  alone in his bed; alone in his room; feeling once again, alone in the world.  "You shouldda known you would."

Spike had kept watch, as the last minutes of daylight faded into night through the open drapes.  He didn't want to sleep for fear Buffy might slip away.  As she slept, he'd listened to the soft familiar hum she made; drunk in her sent which filled the air; savoured the taste of her lingering on his tongue.  But eventually, his own exhaustion and the intoxication of Buffy had taken him.

It was late evening --- maybe night, he supposed --- when he woke to find her gone again.  Spike's first reaction was to simply believe he'd had a very vivid dream and that Buffy had yet to arrive at the Hyperion.  But no, muscle aches in "all the wrong places" gave credence to the notion that she'd been there.  Though the pounding warm water soothed many of them, for the ache in his chest, it did nothing.  He'd let himself believe she loved him, believe that when their bodies had intertwined, they were "making love".  He should have known when she wriggled away from him to sleep afterward that, in some respects, nothing had really changed between them.

But, of course, something had:  he was no longer a vampire.  When he'd been one, Spike knew he could take anything Buffy dished out sexually, in the bedroom --- or wherever their past trysts had found them.  Now he was only a man.  No super-strength; no preternatural endurance.  He had to breathe; he needed time to recover.  Standing in the shower, he wondered if he'd "measured up" then he realized he'd become "Captain Cardboard".  

Spike remembered talking with Riley Finn after discovering the commando had been frequenting "two-bit vampire trulls" --- but not before he'd shown Buffy just what her soldier boy was up to when he wasn't with her.  Oddly, Finn was the first person to whom Spike had confessed he had feelings for Buffy.  And now Spike was Riley.

_"Sometimes I envy you so much it chokes me.  And sometimes I think I got the better deal.   To be that close to her and not have her...  To be all alone even when you're holding her... Feeling her...  Feeling her beneath you... Surrounding you... The scent ... No, you got the better deal."  _

Simply being with Buffy hadn't been enough for Riley and it wasn't enough for Spike.  He'd had her body before --- lots of times, in just about every imaginable position --- but even back then, he wanted more from her.  Even the soulless demon wanted-- needed to believe she loved him.  

Then he recalled another time with Riley:  the guy had blown into town and, for whatever reason, that had sent Buffy to Spike looking for... love?  But when the black Kevlar clad man burst into Spike's crypt with allegations against Spike of wrong doing, Buffy was quick to believe him.  Shortly thereafter, Buffy ended their affair.

_"I do want you.  Being with you makes things... simpler for a little while...  I'm using you.  I can't love you. ... I'm sorry, William."_

Smacking his palms against the tile, Spike growled.  He couldn't bear to go through all that again; he was going home.  

As he shut off the water, he threw open the shower curtain.  

"So-"

"ACK!" he squealed, startled by Buffy's appearance in the bathroom.

"Sorry," she said awkwardly.  "I... ah... didn't think you'd mind."

He was still upset, and was now also embarrassed, so without a word, he modestly reached for a towel and climbed out of the tub.  

Buffy's brow wrinkled perplexedly at his silence and standoffishness.  "I brought up some dinner," she offered, motioning out to the main room.  "I was starved after..."  She grinned coquettishly.  "Thought you might be too."

Spike couldn't contain a relieved chuckle.  "Could you give us a minute, luv?" he asked, nodding for her to leave the bathroom.  When she'd gone, closing the door behind, he stood at the counter.  Looking in the mirror, he smiled, tight-lipped, hardly able to believe she'd come back.  With a bewildered huff and a shake of his head, Spike grabbed his jeans and slipped them on.  Then, as he fluffed his damp hair with the towel, he took a deep breath for courage and went to rejoin Buffy.

***

"Have you seen Mr. Giles?" Andrew asked around the Council's Headquarters.  No one had seen nor heard from him all day.  He checked Giles' office, but there was no answer when he knocked and the door was locked.  "Something's wrong," the young man concluded.  Scurrying back to his own desk, he fumbled in his top drawer.  Master key in hand, he returned to his boss' office.

Cautiously, he unlocked the door, pushed it open then poked his head in.  "Mr. Giles?" he called with a nervous hoarse voice.  He flipped the light switch.  Scanning the room, everything looked normal enough.  Apprehensively, he approached his boss' desk --- fearful Giles would be lying in a pool of blood on the floor behind it.  To Andrew's relief, he wasn't.  But where was he?  

***

"So you came here because Xander suggested that... that Angel might be able to help you?" Buffy reiterated, surprised by Spike's story.

The two sat at the end of his bed --- Buffy, cross-legged; Spike, with a foot tucked up against the inside of his opposite thigh, the other leg hanging off the mattress --- separated by a dinner tray.

"Yeah."  Spike smirked thoughtfully at the irony as he took a bite of his sandwich.  "So what about you, luv?" he asked, being purposefully vague.  He wanted to hear about her life since they'd parted, but feared what she might tell him, given what he already knew from talking with Lorne. 

"Well... um... After Sunnydale, Dawn and I moved down here," she began.

"How's she doing?"

"Oh, good," Buffy assured.  "She's been working hard at school --- hopes to graduate next year so she can start really working for the Council."  

"The Council?  But I thought-"

"Giles is rebuilding it," she explained.

Spike detected something odd in her tone.  "So you and Rupert still not gettin' on?" he assumed.  "What's he done now?"

Agitated, Buffy dropped her fork with a clank onto her salad plate and jumped off the bed.  "It's not what he's done now; it's all just more of the same."

"What d' ya mean?"

"He killed Angel," she replied bitterly.

Stunned and confused, Spike looked at her.  "But I thought... I mean, Fred and them told me that Slayers-"

"Giles' Slayers!" she snapped.  "They were here to fight some big evil and he told me to stay away.  It wouldn't surprise me one bit if he'd sent them looking for Angel.  He didn't approve of us," she remarked bitterly as she rolled her eyes.  Pacing, she ranted, "He claimed those girls needed to 'gain some confidence' and that they wouldn't be able to get that with me around.  He just wanted me out of the way!  He wanted me gone so that he could kill Angel!  It's just like when he plotted with Wood to kill you!"

Listening to her lament over Angel was difficult for Spike, but he held himself together.  "Easy, luv.  I'm on your side, remember?" Spike said, stepping toward her.

She smiled at him, and squeezed his hand.  "I know."

"So that's why you've brought this lot here, then?" he asked.  "To put them up against some sort of... tribunal of their peers?"

"What?"  She backed off.

"To decide on a fair punishment for what they've done," he explained.

"What they've..."  She shook her head.  "They're here to learn --- learn how to control their power."

Spike was floored.  "You can't be serious!" he protested.  "Buffy, you've got murderers here!  I'm not just talking about the ones that did Angel either."

"Well sure, but Faith-"

"Not Faith.  Way I understand it, she did her time," he countered.  "I know there's at least one girl in that group who beat an innocent woman to death.  For a sweater."

"What are you-"  It was making sense now.  "That girl in the lobby!"

"She killed a friend of mine," he said defensively.  

Jealous, Buffy repeated, "A friend?"

"Yeah," Spike huffed.  "She was a good kind decent woman --- a nurse.  Helped me out a lot.  Encouraged me to find out who I was."  Sarcastically, he noted, "No worries though, luv.  Even without remembering exactly who you were, she never stood a chance with you in my heart."

Buffy gasped; he'd hurt her.  Under different circumstances, Buffy might have been flattered.  But Spike neither meant what he'd said in an endearing way, nor had she taken it so.  

Off her grieved expression, he apologized, "Oh bugger... I'm such a jerk.  Buffy-"

"No no.  You're right," she replied, holding up her hands to stop him.  "A lot of these girls are dangerous.  A lot of them have done some pretty bad things --- including kill people.  But Spike, don't you see?  I have to fix this.  I made them Slayers.  I have to make them understand what that means."  When he reached and cupped her cheek, smiling, she clasped her hand over his and added, "I have to try."

***

They awoke to the ring of Buffy's cell phone.  

"Shit!  Have you seen my jacket?" she asked as she rummaged through the bedding.  "Oh!  Never mind.  Here it is.  Hello?"

"Oh Buffy!  Glad I caught you," Andrew said.

"What is it?"

"It's about Mr. Giles."

...31 REJECT


	32. 31 Reject

Thirty-one:  REJECT 

Spike sat up in bed, holding the linens in his lap.  "What is it, luv?" he asked as Buffy bustled around the room collecting her clothes.

Her brow knitted, without pausing to look at him, Buffy replied, "It's Giles."

"And?" Spike prodded, unconcerned, settling back onto the pillows.

"Nobody's seen him in days."

"Hardly anyone's seen us in days either."  He grinned slyly, pushing the tip of his tongue against the back of his teeth as he stretched lithely.

Deeply focused, the Slayer ignored his flirtation.  "He's coming here.  I just know it.  He's coming."  

Arching a brow, Spike went to speak, "Well, gimme a few minutes and you could be-" 

"Give it a rest."  Shaking her head, Buffy pleaded, "Give me a rest."

He frowned.

"Spike..."  She clicked her tongue against the top of her mouth then huffed out a heavy frustrated breath.  "You said it yourself," she began as she turned to the mirror to fix her hair, "we've hardly been out of this room in days.  It's not fair of me to leave that bunch to Faith and the others.  They've been really... understanding so far, but this was my plan.  I have to-"

"Buffy?" Spike said simply, stopping her mid-sentence.

With her fingers entangled in the decorative elastic with which she was tying up her hair, she briefly glanced over her shoulder and brushed him off, "Spike, this is my job and-"

 "I know that," he assured.  "I've always known."  And that was true:  he'd always accepted that the Slayer was a part of her.  

Noting the seriousness of his tone, Buffy turned to look at him then realized that his expression had completely changed.  

Gone was the devilish grin and lusty leer.  Sitting on the bed, with sad eyes and furrowed brow, he looked to her.  "Buffy... I should be going home."

"Home?"

"Back to Santa Barbara," he explained.  "You don't really need me here."

Buffy couldn't believe what she was hearing.  Spike, with whom she'd spent the vast majority of her time since they'd reunited days earlier, planned to leave.  Indefinitely.  Maybe forever.  "How can you... How can you say that?"  She was troubled by the prospect.  "How can you even think of leaving now?  I thought you loved me."

"God Buffy," he sighed.  "My loving you has nothing to do with this."  Then he chuckled, "Who 'm I kidding?  Of course it does."  He turned to her.  "I'm a distraction.  Long as I stay here, you're off your game.  I'm in the way."  She tried to speak, but he wasn't done saying his piece.  "I'm just a regular guy --- don't have any special powers or what all.  I can't keep up with you... you Slayers anymore," he covered, embarrassed.  "And considering what some o' that lot have been up to, I don't think I want to have anything more to do with 'em anyway."

"But that's how you can help:  showing them what's right.  And it doesn't matter whether you can 'keep up'.  Look at Fred.  You'd think she'd be a nervous wreck around this bunch, but she knows she can hold her own with a taser.  And Xander," Buffy noted.  "Xander spent years fighting with us.  He was just a 'regular guy' but he wanted to help.  And he did!" she insisted.

"Guess that's true enough," Spike conceded, less than thrilled with being reduced to the likes of Xander Harris.  But Spike's physical failings weren't the real issue.  

Softening, she added, "Besides, some of the greatest things you've done didn't need super-strength.  Just by being close, you helped me."  

Hearing that choked him up but his head was still a jumble of questions.  "Buffy, tell me the truth," he finally managed the courage to say.  "Would you 'ave been happier if Angel was the Shanshu vampire --- if he was human and I was de-"

"Don't say it!" she shot back.  "Why would you say that?"

"Why?" he repeated as if the answer was obvious.  "Buffy-"

"Yes, it's true:  I loved Angel," she declared without hesitation.  "And yes, I sort of fell apart when he died.  But my feelings for Angel have nothing to do with how I feel about you.  Not then, or now."

He rolled his eyes.

Buffy wasn't getting through to Spike and his glibness was aggravating.  "What do you want from me?" she demanded.  "Do you want me to tell you that I ended it with Angel before he got killed?  I did!"  Her eyes were filling with angry tears.  "Do you think I didn't mourn you?  Is that what you want to hear?  That I cried myself to sleep at night because I thought you were dead?  I did!" she confessed.  "I did for months.  How could you doubt that?  You were such an important part of my life.  Because of you, I still have a life.  We all do!"

"Well, that's not exactly what I wanted to hear," he mumbled, "but thanks for sayin' it."

_"...but thanks for sayin' it."_  Suddenly, she was struck in the chest by the echo of his reply months earlier when she'd told him she loved him.

"Oh god... Spike, I'm sorry," said Buffy quickly, as tears came to her eyes.  Sometimes actions aren't enough and words really need to be spoken.  Threading her fingers through one of his hands, she cupped his cheek in her other palm.  "Look at me," she insisted.  "Spike, I love you.  I love you now; I loved you back then.  Angel didn't change that."  She knew she'd be risking hurting him, but she wanted to be completely honest.  "Just like you could never make me stop loving Angel.  I love you both.  For different reasons; in different ways.  I can't explain it but I do."  She pursed her lips, nervously.  "And Spike, I don't want you to go."

Blinking back the sting of tears in his eyes, Spike cocked his head.  "You'll let me think on this a bit?" he asked.

"Of course."  She nodded with a weak smile.

"But in the meantime, you'd best get downstairs and do whatever it is you were goin' to do about Giles," he suggested.  As Buffy opened the door to the hall, he assured her, "I'll be here."

***

"So you can't find him either?" Buffy asked Willow.  

"Obviously he hasn't called me," the witch said, "and I haven't been able to turn anything up with locator spells."

Dawn poked her head into the office.  "So what does that mean?" 

"Well, there are three main possibilities.  One, he's... um... dead; no life force would... ah... make him harder to find," Willow explained uneasily. 

"OK," Buffy acknowledged with an indifferent shrug, convinced that was an unlikelihood.

"Two, he's in an alternate dimension."

"Can't we track him in alternate dimensions?" inquired Buffy.

"We could," Willow began with a nod before tipping her head to one side and hesitantly elaborating, "if we knew which one he was in.  But he didn't... leave a forwarding address.  Fred and Wesley are seeing what they can find through Wolfram and Hart, but there are hundreds of possible dimensions, so it's going to take a while."

Buffy grumbled, "Well, that's hopeless."

"So what's behind door number three, Willow?" asked Dawn, trying to sound optimistic.

"He could be using a cloaking spell."

Buffy raised a brow.  "You mean like on _Star Trek_?"

"Those weren't spells," Dawn replied.  "They were- Not helping.  Right.  Um... But if he's using a cloaking spell that really can't be goo-"  

Both Willow and Buffy looked at Dawn with pursed lips.  

"Right."  Quickly the youngest woman waved a finger back and forth between the other two.  "You... ah... already figured that part out.  Any ideas what he's planning?"

"I don't have time for this!" Buffy complained.  "I can't keep worrying about Giles when there are all these Slayers.  We're supposed to be on the same side."

"Buffy..."  Willow's eyes widened as an idea blossomed in her head.  "What if this was the First's plan all along?"

The Slayer grimaced, not comprehending.

"Huh?" grunted Dawn.

"We're fighting each other again," the red-head noted.  "But it's not just us.  Remember, the First wanted to raise an army.  But unleashing demons?  Sure, there'd be a lot of human deaths, but eventually humanity would unite against them.  So what if the Turok Han were only a ploy to force your hand?"

"Meaning?"

"What if the First wanted us to release the power?  To make the Slayers its army."

Buffy went pale.

"You've said before that there's darkness in the power.  With Faith, we saw how easily the power could go wrong," the witch stared, stunned by her own speculation.  "The First had lots of opportunity before the spell to kill more of the Potentials but didn't.  Yet almost all of the people who knew how to train them --- to teach them to control their power --- were murdered.  How many of the girls who turned up in Sunnydale escaped after seeing their Watchers killed?"

"No..."  Buffy shook her head.  "This can't be..."

"And look at what's happening now:  all around the world, Slayers are terrorizing their communities.  But not everyone knows that they're Slayers, so people are afraid of everyone.  We've got humans fighting humans, and fear and paranoia growing everyday!"

"Oh god," Buffy groaned.  "We have to find Giles; I need to know what he's doing.  Will, if he's using a cloaking device, is there anything we can do to turn it off?"

Willow worried her lip.  "Well, we could-"

"- just check the lobby," Dawn interjected before turning away with an artificially bright smile.  "Hey Giles, what brings you here?"  Leaning back to throw her voice into the office, she added, "With these... interesting looking... people."

"I'm here to see how things are coming along," Giles replied.  After he motioned for his companions to stay on the landing, Giles casually wandered through the clusters of women chatting and flipping through magazines, being careful not to get tripped up by the little girls playing tag.  

Shaken, Buffy and Willow staggered out of the office.

At the site of her former mentor, Buffy's animosity returned.  "Hello Giles," she said harshly.

"Ah Willow," the man greeted with a smile before turning to the Slayer.  "Buffy."

"What are you really doing here, Giles?  And who are these guys?" she asked of the four new-comers who stood stiffly overlooking the lower lobby area.  They dressed differently:  one appeared in a suit like Giles might have worn years earlier, another wore a long dark hooded robe, the third had a snug black turtle-neck sweater, a large gold amulet and loose slacks, the last wore jeans with holes in the knees and an enormous belt-buckle.  At first glance, there appeared to be no commonality in the group, but looking deeper, Buffy could see something in their eyes.  She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but she knew the situation had grown more immediately dire.

"Buffy, I think we need to discuss this plan of yours," Giles replied.

"What is there to discuss?" she countered.  "Looks like you've already decided what to do."

Crossing his arms, the man assumed a judgemental position, shifting his weight to lean on one foot.  "Your plan isn't going to work."

"You haven't given it a chance!  The Council," she stressed bitterly, with her hands on her hips, "agreed to give me six weeks to gather and teach the Slayers.  I've hardly had half that time."

"Ah yes, and I see you've been spending your time wisely," the Council's Chief Director sneered coolly.  "Asleep in your dead lover's arms," he added as he turned to meet Spike, who'd appeared on the stairs from the second floor.

Buffy was taken aback; that's what the First had said to her.  "He's not dead," Buffy choked out.

But Giles wasn't listening.  "You just couldn't stay away, could you?" he railed at Spike.  "I don't know how you managed to survive, but why the bleedin' hell couldn't you leave bloody well enough alone?!"

Briskly, Buffy crossed between Giles and the stairs.  "Leave him out of this!" 

"Gladly."  Giles scowled at Spike.  "I trust you'll leave us to our business then."

Spike shook his head at the irony.

"For god's sake Giles!  Spike saved the world!  What more do you want from him?!" 

"Spike closed a hellmouth, but this world hasn't been 'saved'," he corrected.  "The only way to minimize the damage you caused by unleashing these Slayers is to have the Council reclaim the power," Giles stated bluntly, "and to do it soon."

"You never intended to give this plan a chance," Buffy accused.  "You just figured that if I rounded these girls up that would kill two birds with one stone:  keep me off your trail and get a bunch of Slayers together in one place so that you could steal our power."

Gasps ricocheted through the growing crowd.

"And Giles..." Willow lowered her voice, "that could mean killing the Slayers or losing control of the power completely."

Panic was growing:  in Buffy and in the other Slayers.  

"P'rhaps you're-"

"I can't believe I fell for it!" raved Buffy.  "We're helpless in here because of the anti-violence spell.  The others can't even get out!  Dammit!"  She stamped her foot and growled, "I wish I'd never found that damned scythe!"

With wide black eyes and a deep hollow voice, Willow uttered, "Done."

... 32 REGROUP


	33. 32 Regroup

Thirty-two:  REGROUP 

Giles grumbled, "Oh ba-" 

The room fell silent and it seemed as if time stopped for a moment.  Buffy stood in the Hyperion lobby with her hand clasped over her mouth.  Near the front desk, Dawn's mouth gaped.  Spike jumped back against the wall before retreating up the stairs.  Everyone else in the room was fixated on Willow. 

"So what's goin' on in here?" Faith finally said as she got off the elevator.  "Oh.  Giles.  Hey, what's up with him?"

"What the f- ah... What just happened?"  Buffy glanced nervously around the room, patting herself down to confirm she was still in one piece.  "Will?  What did you do?  You're not...?"

"Oh hey, no!" insisted the witch, whose eyes had returned to their natural hazel.  "Sorry... So not a vengeance demon."

"So what was with the spooky voice?" Dawn asked apprehensively as she craned her neck to her assess friend.  

"I was just... ah..."  She pointed to Giles' companions, who appeared to be asleep on their feet --- except that said feet were dangling several inches above the floor.  "...dealing with the boys there."

"Ah," Buffy acknowledged with a nod.  "Good thinking, Will."  It was a relief to Buffy that her friend had things under control and that she hadn't further complicated an already bad situation with a slip of her tongue.   

"It won't hold them forever," the witch cautioned.  "There's an awful lot of mystical energy flying around in here.  I don't want to risk disrupting the protection spells for too long."

"OK.  Right," Buffy said as she tried to come up with the next plan of action.  "So we need to-"

"Hang on a minute!"  Dawn crossed to stare Buffy down.  "What was the rule?" she demanded of her older sister, who stepped back, startled by the girl's attack.  "Right after 'do not invite bloodsucking dead people into our house', we have another rule.  What was it?  Hmm..."  She cupped her chin and tapped a finger against her cheek, feigning thoughtfulness.  "Oh right," she said, dropping her hands to her hips, "never say that word."

"I didn't-"

"Buffy, we all promised- no swore, after that thing with Halfrek and Anya, never, never to say that word!" Dawn ranted.  "And if that word isn't dangerous enough, did you happen to notice the guys Giles brought?"  She waved her hand in the direction of the enigmatic group without taking her eyes off Buffy.  "Willow may not be a vengeance demon, but we don't know anything about those guys.  One of them could have been one."

***

You have reached the offices of the law firm of Wolfram and Hart.  If you know the extension... a recorded voice droned.

"Bugger," Spike gritted through his teeth.  "Come on... Come on... Come on..."

...for Ritual Sacrifices, press nine, or press zero to speak to a member of our switchboard staff.

"'bout bloody time."  He punched the zero.

"Good afternoon.  Wolfram and Hart.  How may I-"

"I need to speak to Fred.  Ms Burkle.  Winifred Burkle," he stammered hastily.

"And who should I say is calling?" replied the sing-song voice on the other end of the line.

"Spike.  Er... ah... John.  No.  Spike.  Oh Bugger.  Just put her on!"

"One moment please."

The "one moment" to Spike seemed to take ages, but eventually the call was connected.  

"Hello?  Spike?"

"Fred.  We need your help!  Giles 'as turned up with a bunch o' suspicious types.  They're here to suck up the Slayer power," he explained.  "Can your lot over there send some sort o' magical crack-down team or the like to stop 'em?"

"OK," replied Fred uneasily.  "How many of them are there?"

"Four that I saw, plus Giles," Spike shot back hastily.  "But there could be more."

"I'll get someone over there as soon as I can."

"Thanks.  Appreciate it."  With his heart racing and his body surging with adrenaline, he slammed down the receiver then flew out of the room and rushed back to the lobby.  "OK Red," Spike shouted as he bounded down the stairs.  "They're on their-" He jerked to a halt when suddenly and apparently from all sides, dozens of olive fatigue-clad gun-toting military-types burst into the lobby, putting everyone else back on the defensive.  "Bloody hell.  Who tipped off the Initiative?"

"It's alright everyone," calmed Wesley, who appeared from behind a cluster of commandos.  "One of my searches tracked down Mr. Giles, and upon closer investigation, we detected his... associates."  He reached in his pocket for his ringing cell phone.  "Ah... excuse me."

"Oh.  Sure," stammered Buffy, trying to at least appear she was taking all the goings-on in stride.  "Of course."

"Wyndham-Pryce here-  Yes Fred...  Oh not to worry; we've got everything under control."

"Eech... What a day," Lorne groused as he entered from the courtyard and casually strolled through the Slayers, soldiers and civilians scattered around the lobby.  "Who here needs a drink --- besides me?"

***

"Alright, so we've got Giles and his guys safely locked away at Wolfram and Hart?"  Buffy looked for confirmation from Gunn.

"Yeah, we got 'em," the man confirmed.  Gunn had supervised the containment of the Giles and his men in the firm's sub-basement before returning with Fred to the Hyperion.  After the pair arrived, the group crowded into the Hotel office to discuss the Slayer situation, away from the eyes and ears of the dozens of "guests" that kept crossing and pacing the lobby.  

"Wes... um... Question."  Dawn stood with a hand raised hesitantly by her face.  "You knew they were here --- Giles and those other guys.  But what if Willow hadn't done the binding spell?  How would you have gotten around the anti-violence thing?"

"It's quite simple, really," replied Wesley pragmatically.  "Because Wolfram and Hart deals with a lot of mystical... situations, we are fully prepared with a virtual arsenal of anti-anti-spell... spells."  Awkwardly, he paused for a moment, apparently replaying the phrase before regaining his focus.  "Many power dealers use magic to protect themselves and often we have to manipulate certain factors in order to turn the situation to our advantage.  We are actually able to use their magicks against them, thus rendering the subjects helpless, as it's very rare that anyone expects an ambush to be so... prepared."

"Well," Buffy harrumphed listlessly as she flopped back in her chair.  "I guess that's it for this Council too."

"Gee... I can't believe Giles is in jail," remarked Dawn.

But Gunn corrected, "It's not so much a jail as... um...hell... in a closet."

"Oh."  Turning to her sister, who gulped down half her drink, Dawn asked, "So what do we do now?"

"Good question," Buffy sighed.  "Even if Wolfram and Hart can keep Giles and his gang forever, we've got other problems."

"Right," said Willow.  "The Slayers."

"And Giles may not be the only one aware of the situation," Wesley noted. 

Then Fred added, "Or the possible opportunity to take the power."

"Even without a capture of the power, I'm sure there are countless demon clans who would be eager to lure rogue Slayers into their employ," the Brit continued.  

"Yeah and, according to our investigators," added Gunn, "there hasn't been a big decrease in world-wide violence in the last couple a weeks."

"Well, given the reports from elsewhere in the world, things are bound to continue to escalate if we can't cap the Slayers soon," Wesley hypothesized.  "The situation for all of us could become quite grim."

Gunn turned to Dawn.  "How many Slayers you got so far?"  

"Um, only about a third of them," she replied.  "There's about two hundred and seventy-five here, and another fifty or so on the way."

"And the ones that've been here a while," Faith interjected, "they're gettin' punchy."

"It's taking too long," Buffy grumbled.

"Buffy..." Willow hesitated.  "I hate to say it, but-"

"You agree with Giles:  my plan won't work," the Slayer concluded, matter-of-factly.  "Yeah, I guess I've got to face that.  But what else can we do?  I mean, the power's out there," she whined as she flung her hand in the air and started to get weepy.  "You said yourself, Will, that taking it back could kill these girls... Faith...  Me."  Barely noticing Willow's dour nod, Buffy took another swig of her Sea Breeze.   

"Buffy, I'm afraid you've some hard choices to make," Wesley cautioned, as he crossed to confiscate the young woman's glass.  "Although we may be able to protect some of the Slayers, the others --- the ones you can't find or who won't cooperate --- may have to be sacrificed."

After a hiccup, Buffy's eyes popped and her face reddened.  "Yeah, I guess," she acknowledged reluctantly.  Shaking her head, she slurred, "Will, that whole vengeance demon thing is looking better and better.  There's a career choice that would've come in handy right about now."  Down-hearted and light-headed, Buffy folded her arms on the top of the desk and dropped her chin to rest on her hand.

"Well, you know... changing time really shouldn't be all that hard," Willow speculated.  "Vengeance demons can do it.  Sure for the big stuff, they've gotta dip into the group power pool or consult with D'Hoffryn and the other elders, but they can do it."  She nodded pensively.  "Between Wolfram and Hart, the Coven, and me, we've gotta have more power than we really need."

"Certainly using a vengeance demon-like approach, we could perhaps remove the scythe from the equation," suggested Wesley, hypothetically, "thus making it so that the spell to release its power could never be performed."

"Yeah, but what's to stop the First from killin' all those girls?" asked Faith.  "Or lettin' the Ubervamps loose on the world?"

"Without the scythe... its power," Buffy noted grimly, "we'd have been dead before the amulet kicked in."

"Precisely!"  The Brit raised a finger to emphasize his agreement.

"Huh?"  All eyes turned to Wesley.

"Oh... ah.  Sorry.  The trouble, you see, is that we don't simply want to change time randomly, as would a vengeance demon's spell; we need to be able to influence its progression in order to prevent a specific event... or series thereof," he amended, acknowledging Faith's point about the Bringers murdering Potentials and considering the destruction of the former Council.  

"OK, so we can't undo what's been done," groaned Faith.  "We can't turn back time-"

"I didn't say that exactly."

"Huh?"

"What I said was that we don't want to just fold back time, remove a single object or event, then allow time to progress on its due course," Wes clarified.  "We want to direct its course."

She still wasn't following the man's train of thought.  "Again I say, huh?"

"I'll see her 'huh' and raise it a 'come again'?'" exclaimed Gunn.

"What I'm proposing," Wes declared, "is that we send a team back in time."

...33 REASON


	34. 33 Reason

Thirty-three:  REASON 

"Time travel."  Buffy's brow furrowed.  "Can we even do that?"

"There's been a lot of debate among physicists about the possibility of time travel," Fred interjected.  "There are those who support the idea of traveling back in time.  Einstein's Theory of General Relativity, Thorne's algorithm, the Casimir effect, Gott's Cosmic Strings, Kerr holes..." she rattled off with a nod for each point, "they all suggest it's possible to time travel even into the past, given certain specific circumstances.  Of course, most of those are pretty unlikely or require an awful lot of energy."  She frowned.  "And even if those circumstances could be achieved, no one's been able to prove that it's possible to go back to a specific moment in time --- and we'd want to be pretty specific to be sure we could fix whatever it was that caused the current situation so those variables would have to be considered."  Bobbing her head to the other side as if she were speaking to someone else, Fred continued, "And Hawking has completely discounted the idea of travelling into the past based simply on the fact that the Earth hasn't been over-run with 'tourists' from the future.  But then, if you were a visitor from the future, would you really want people to know?" she asked, more of herself than anyone else in the room.  "I mean, you could 'invent' successful products from your own time in the past and make a fortune, provided you figure you could live in the time before a lot of other things were invented.  But hey you could probably-"  Fred noticed that all eyes were blankly staring at her.  "I guess that's really not relevant..."  

"Is it just me," asked Dawn, "or is the room spinning?"

"I thought it was just that Sea Breeze," Buffy muttered while blinking deliberately, trying to refocus.  

Hitting on another thought, Fred added, "Then there's the 'Many Worlds Interpretation' which suggests that at any specific point in time when a choice is made, all possible choices are made, creating multiple dimensions, so it could be difficult to ensure that we would be going back to the right point in the right timeline to correct this particular problem.  It's kinda like a tree and we'd need to find the root cause of the problem in order to reverse the negative effects in all the timelines that branched from it."

"Ye-ah..."  Buffy asked, "So Fred, was that a 'yes' or a 'no'?  I can't deal the vague right now."

"Um... from the perspective of physics, time travel is still only theoretical and I'm not sure we can do it," she stammered, "at least not now.  On the other hand, we could start working on the theories, narrow the variables and attempt to align the factors, and since we'd be going back in time, it wouldn't matter if this took us years to do since we'd be going back anyway --- unless of course we all got killed before we got the chance to-"  She stopped herself.  "I'm doing it again, aren't I?"

Rolling her eyes, Buffy turned to the rest of the group.  "So what about mystical alternatives?  Will?  Wes?  What've you got?"

"I think it's possible... We did open that portal back to the shadow men," the witch replied optimistically before considering, "but for that we had the shadow caster.  It gave a focal point- an invitation to their time and space."

"Yes... An object present at the time to which we'd need to return would be helpful," Wesley hypothesized.  

"We could use the scythe," suggested Dawn.  "Not much else came out of the Hellmouth."

"That may pose a problem," Wesley indicated.  "Being a mystical object from the distant past, we might be drawn back to the time it was created rather than the time it was used."

Raising a pointed finger, Willow countered, "But its mystical energies have been released."

"Which is brings us back to this problem," grumbled Buffy.  

"I think we're getting ahead of ourselves," Wesley cautioned.  "As great a potential threat as the Turok Han posed to humanity and as important as Spike's sacrifice was to saving the world from being overrun, I was rather under the impression that the real problem-  the real enemy in that situation was the First."

The Sunnydale survivors nodded.

"Well, I should think then, that we would need to examine points before the First began to... manipulate the Slayer situation."  Leaning back contemplatively in his chair, he asked, "Do we know what caused this rise of the First?"

***

Based on what she'd learned from Anya and Giles' visit to the oracle, Beljox's Eye, Willow explained the circumstances surrounding the rise of the First in its attempt to seize upon the imbalance created in the Slayer line.

By the time she'd finished, everyone sat quiet and stoic until Buffy harrumphed dramatically.  "OK, so I'll say what everyone else is thinking:  I have to go back and stop Willow from doing the resurrection spell."  

"But..." Dawn choked.

"Well, on the bright side," chirped Buffy flippantly, "if I go back to before you brought me back, you won't have to bring me back to cause the problem that I have to go back to fix because I'll already be there."

Everyone sat and stared, trying to figure what Buffy had just rattled off --- except Fred, who had no trouble following the run-on sentence or the train of thought.

"Um... Buffy?  Not to be all pessimistic or anything," said the young woman hesitantly, "but... um... back to physics.  There's ah... a theory, the 'Grandmother Paradox' --- it's actually one of the most basic theories illustrating the complexity of time travel."

"Uh huh."

"The idea is that if someone travelled back to meet his grandmother in a time before his mother was born --- you know, like for one of those grade school 'When my grandma was my age'-type reports --- and the traveller did something inadvertently --- or intentionally for that matter --- to cause the death of the grandmother, that person would cease to exist because the grandmother wouldn't have lived to give birth to his mother who wouldn't then give birth to him."

"Uh huh."  Buffy looked sideways at Fred, not having the first clue what the woman was saying.

"So if you were to go back and prevent Willow from doing that spell, at the moment you convince her --- or... um... stop her whatever other way you might have to," she noted grimly before swallowing hard, "you wouldn't exist anymore because Willow never brought you back from the dead to go back in time."

"But it worked for Michael J. Fox," Buffy grumbled.

"Well, not exactly, he started to fade as the likelihood of his parents meeting decreased," Fred corrected then she tossed back her shaking head, unimpressed.  "But don't get me started on the scientific improbabilities of that movie --- not to mention those sequels.  I mean, really... Who's going to believe-"

"Fred?  Back to the business at hand," Wesley encouraged, eliciting a blush from his colleague and a heavy frustrated sigh from the Slayer.

"You can't not bring Buffy back!"  Frustrated, Dawn stamped her foot.  "If it weren't for Buffy, there wouldn't have been a Slayer protecting the Hellmouth."

Faith slumped guiltily in her chair.

"We're still only discussing possibilities," said Fred in a calming tone.  

"But right now, that's looking like the best option," Buffy pointed out, clearly resigned to her own demise and sobered by the acceptance.  "Bringing me back caused the problem with the Slayer line and trying to fix it, I only made things worse by letting the scythe's power loose.  Sure, it seemed like a good idea at the time but..."

"But didn't somebody say you died twice?" asked Gunn.  "Isn't that how Faith got... called?"

"That's true," Willow acknowledged.

"So how do you know it's this second resurrection you gotta stop?"

"Buffy's first 'death' was by natural means which were also naturally --- and quickly --- reversed," explained Wesley.  "Several years ago, she drowned.  She stopped breathing and her heart must have stopped thus... aligning the mystical circumstances needed for a replacement Slayer to be called.  She couldn't have actually been dead in a present-day medical or legal sense --- she had to still have some brain function --- otherwise CPR wouldn't have been successful in resuscitating her."  The man stroked his jaw as he pondered aloud, "It's a wonder the Council never capitalized on this idea; as we now see, it is entirely possible to have multiple Slayers.  If the Council had simply thought to simulate a Slayer's death-"

"Um Wes?"  Faith waved.  "Not likin' the sound of this.  I may not be the sharpest knife in the block, but it sounds to me like you're sayin' the Council shouldda tried drowning me to get a replacement that would walk the straight-and-narrow and do what she's told."

"Only discussing possible courses of action," Wesley insisted, holding his hands up defensively.

"OK, so it was the magic thing not the CPR that caused this breakdown in the Slayer line?" Gunn reiterated.

Willow and Wesley nodded in agreement.

"And they gotta have a Slayer- Buffy, to protect the Hellmouth..."

"Right."

"So what?"  Gunn shrugged.  "We go back further, right?  To before Buffy-"

"You have to let me die," Dawn blurted.

"Don't be ridiculous," scolded her sister.  "Nobody said you have to die."

The girl scowled, gritting through her teeth, "But you said you do.  I was the one that was supposed to die.  I was the Key!"

Without a word, Spike stormed out of the room leaving the others bewildered.  

Buffy wanted to follow, but couldn't --- not with Dawn in such a state.  "Nobody has to die.  We can take a stronger force back.  We won't let Glory get you; we can protect you.  Everything will be just fine."

"Um... Buffy?" Fred, who'd crossed to the now open office door following Spike, interrupted.  "Remember the 'Grandmother Paradox'."  With an awkward smile and nod, she left the room.  

"OK, what was that again?" the Slayer asked.

"Well, in this case, I think Fred's point is that if we took a large group back to protect Dawn," Willow explained, "we might mess up other stuff that's key to the success of this plan." 

"I should think that the larger the group, the greater the likelihood for a negative impact on the past," Wesley theorized.  

"So we could end up makin' things worse?" asked Gunn.

"The less we need to do in going back, the better," Willow stated, "so the group should be pretty small --- assuming we could even get back to the right time."

"We're going around in circles," Buffy complained, raking her fingers across her scalp, tangling them in her hair.  

"I think, perhaps, this would be a good time to break for the night," suggested Wesley.  "It's been a long and emotional day.  We should all try to get some sleep.  Perhaps things will seem clearer in the morning."

***

"Spike?" Fred called down the corridor to where he sat on the floor outside his room.

Glancing briefly in the direction of the voice, he turned away to wipe his eyes.  "Yeah?" he said hoarsely.  "What can I do for you, pet?"

She slowed her approach as she came down the hall.  "I was kinda hoping I could do something for you."

"No.  Just fine here, thanks."

"Um... not to push or anything, but are you OK?" she inquired sympathetically as she knelt beside him.

"Think I just need a good night's sleep.  Been a long... few weeks."  He was quiet for a time then he turned to her.  "Do you think it'll work?" he asked.  "Will you lot really be able to change the past?

---------------------------------

Author's note:  some of the physics details were found at the "How Stuff Works" website (and yes, I realize the "Grandmother Paradox" is also referred to as the "Grandfather Paradox").

  addition to lots of episodes of ER, Medical details came from:

Brain death stuff 

Near drowning stuff

  www.hmc.psu.edu/childrens/healthinfo/n/neardrowning.htm 


	35. 34 Ready

Thirty-four:  READY 

After kicking back, trying to think of anything but the difficult decisions that would have to be made in the coming days and eating take-out food in Faith's suite, Buffy walked Dawn to her room.  "We'll work this out," Buffy assured her sister.  "Try to get some sleep."  With a hug, she said, "Good night," then turned to go back to take the stairs down to Spike's room.

The room was quiet and dark when she crept in.  Not wanting to wake Spike, Buffy went straight to the bathroom to ready herself for bed.  Having brushed and flossed her teeth and changed into her tank top and sweats, she slipped into bed to spoon against Spike's warm back.  Contentedly, she slid an arm over his side to rest against his chest and as she did so, she could feel his breath hitch.  "Spike?" she cooed softly.

He took her hand in his.  "Yes luv."

"What is it?" she asked, shifting herself to lean over him to try to see his face.

"Been thinkin' is all," he replied vaguely.

"About?"

"Oh, nothin'," said Spike, before giving her hand a squeeze.  "Just glad you're here."  He took a deep pensive breath.  "So, did you lot figure out what to do?"

"No.  Not really."  She settled back down onto her pillow and explained with a note of sarcasm, "The only thing we could agree on was Thai over Mexican."

"When you do this thing..."  He swallowed the nervous lump that formed in his throat.  "...this time travel thing; it'll be like none of this ever happened."

"I know.  That's true."

Drowned in his own melancholy, he couldn't tell that she shared his sadness.

It was late and they were both tired --- too tired to think any more about the future; too tired to dwell on the past.  With several deep breaths, they drifted off to sleep.

***

_He found her in the darkness; she'd come... looking for him? _

_"Buffy," he said with a mix of relief and awe._

_She was suffering; it was plain to him through the sadness in her eyes.  Even in the shadows, he could see her pain.  "I do remember what I said; the promise... to protect her.  If I'da done that ... even if I didn't make it ... you wouldn't've had to jump."  It was hard, terribly hard for him to meet her eyes.  His heart was so full of regret at his failing, so overwhelmed by her return.  "But I want you to know I did save you.  Not when it counted, of course, but... after that; every night after that.  I'd see it all again... I'd do somethin' different.  Faster or more clever, you know?  Dozens of times, lots of different ways..."  He drifted off but he needed her to know, "Every night I save you."_

***

"Oh... No... Not the world without shrimp!" Buffy shrieked as she shook herself awake.  "Weird dream.  I shouldn't eat spicy food before bed."  She noticed Spike leaning against the wall looking out the window.  "Spike?" Buffy yawned.  "Is something wrong?"

"No.  Buffy..."  With a sad smile, he explained, "I just remembered something."

***

"I don't like it," Buffy told the group who'd gathered in the boardroom at Wolfram and Hart.  

With arms folded across her chest, Dawn added her own protest, "I don't either."

"I should be the one to fix this," insisted Buffy.

"But Buffy, Spike's right," said Willow.  "If this doesn't work- if we send him to the wrong dimension or whatever --- not that we're going to do that," she tried to assure, "but... we're going to need you here."

"And Dawn, you can't go back," Fred noted.  "That would only increase the odds of Glory being successful in finding you and opening up the vortex."

"The four of us are the only ones here that know what happened back then," Willow explained.  "We're the only one's that have any real experience dealing with Glory and who know our way around Sunnydale."

Buffy looked at her friend.  

"Oh, I can't go," Willow stated.  "For the spell to have its best chance of working, I need to be grounded to channel the energy.  And it's going to take a lot," she added with a heavy sigh.

"And... um... we don't really want to... tip off the Senior Partners," Gunn interjected, "so we can't offer that much of the firm's power."

"So you see, Spike really is our best hope to correct this problem," Wesley concluded.

"Would you excuse us a few moments?" Buffy asked.  

"Certainly.  You can use my office," offered Wesley.

***

Briskly, Buffy blew across the lobby forcing clients and firm employees alike to clear a path as Spike sauntered along behind her.  Standing sternly at Wesley's open door, she scowled at Spike who refused to be intimidated.  Once he was inside, she stepped in and slammed the door.  "This is not going to happen."  Buffy stomped her foot to emphasize the point.

"Buffy, look-"

"I won't let you do this by yourself," she declared.  "Do you honestly think you're the only person to ever feel guilty about something you did?  Or didn't do?  What about me?"

"Well..."  He smirked, holding his chin high and looking down at her.  "I felt guilty first."

Buffy's eyes widened, stunned by his arrogance.  "I walked away," she argued.  "No.  I ran away and left you to die in the Hellmouth."

"Guess we got lucky there then," he joked.  "See:  not dead."  He stood with his arms spread widely.  "Quite the contrary-"

"That's not the point!"  Frustrated, she rolled her eyes trying to fight back the tears stinging in them.  "I left you!  I... left you..."  She was shaking.  "I don't know... Maybe part of me believed you'd find a way... a way to get out.  Maybe after all those times that you went away and came back again, I just assumed you'd do it again.  I..."  
  


"I stayed true to form then."

Buffy glared.

"Buffy... luv.  Regardless of whether you go, or I go-"

"Or we go together," Buffy growled.

"If the plan works, all o' this... between us... it'll be gone."  He turned to the window, putting his back to Buffy.  "The only reason you ever paid me any mind... is because you died; because Willow and the others dragged you back; because-"

Defensively, she grabbed his arm, forcing him to face her then she protested, "That's not true!"

"You came to me because you wanted to punish yourself," he said bitterly, his eyes intensely fixed on hers, "for... whatever you figured you needed to be punished."  He shrugged her off and turned back to the window.  "You don't die; you don't get resurrected; you don't come to me; I stay an evil soulless demon."  As he spoke his voice had become increasingly fragile until he cleared his throat and chuckled.  "Probably die some meaningless death when that chip explodes in my 'ead."  Then he turned back to her, his eyes pleading.  "You have to let me do this.  I need to at least think I got some purpose left in my life."

***

"OK, so we think we've cracked most of the elements to do the spell," Willow announced to the group who'd reassembled days later in the Hotel office.

"It wasn't really all that difficult, actually," Fred said.  "Opening portals is pretty straightforward --- when you know what you're doing."  The physicist grinned proudly.  "And we think we've figured out how to supersede the time-space continuum.  Of course, we... um... won't know for sure until we try it," she muttered, losing some of the confidence with which she'd begun, "and we can't actually try it, since this is pretty much gonna be a one-time thing, so... um..."

"All we need now is to finalize the time and who's going to go," said Willow nervously glancing from Buffy to Spike, who had been very quiet and reclusive the past couple of days.  

"Oh, and we could use an item that might have been around back then," Fred added.  "It's not essential, but it could simplify the process.  If none of you Sunnydale folks have anything, I thought maybe we could look through... um... Angel's things for something."

"No Fred," Buffy blurted.  "Use these; I've had them for years," she offered as she unhooked her tiny hoop earrings.  "Hardly ever take them out.  I was wearing them when I fought Glory."

"So we've got the focus item," Willow noted.  "What about the time frame?  And the travelers?" 

***

"So what's this then?" asked Spike, opening the narrow rectangular box.

"Oh those are a collection of ortho-mystic micro-processors and meta-psychological stabilizer units," said Knox, the keen young man assisting Fred as they pulled equipment from boxes in the Hotel lobby.

"Sorry, I don't speak loo-"  He stopped himself.  "They're what now?"

"They're mini computers that'll help you once you've made the trip back in time," explained Fred as she bustled between a large crate and the front desk.  "It's not uncommon when travelling inter-dimensionally to get disoriented, but as long as you keep the units on you, they'll help to stabilize your thought processes and memory."

"Look like dominos to me."

"Indeed, and they will to virtually anyone else who sees them," said Wesley.  "But you see, each of these units serves a specific function and will aid you in achieving your objective."

"May I?" asked Fred, reaching for the box.

"Sure."

The young scientist removed a couple of the small black tiles which had green dots and held them for Spike to see.  "I did a little tinkering with these ones.  They'll provide a distortion wave at instant tellers and stuff like that so you can get money for whatever basics you need while you're there."

"Just don't get carried away," Willow cautioned.  "You don't want to draw attention to yourself."

Then Fred pulled out a pair of tiles with red tabs.  "These are my favourite," she stated with a wide grin.  Looking around to the others, she grimaced and added with a serious tone, "But they're only for absolute emergencies." 

After some instruction on how to use each set of devices, Spike let out a heavy breath.  "Right then."  He leaned back against the lab table and crossed his arms.  "When do we do this thing?" he asked, trying to maintain his resolve.

"We can start whenever you're ready," Fred said, "but... wouldn't you like to... have some time... to say goodbye to Buffy?"

"Why would he have to 'say good-bye to Buffy'?" the Slayer demanded as she roared down the stairs.  

Fred scowled at Spike.  "I thought you said you talked to her about this."

"I did."  His lip curled in a half-grin.  "Didn't say she went along with it," he explained quietly, hardly moving his lips.  Turning to Buffy, he covered, "Fred here just thought, well, in case... something goes wrong with this bit o' scientific hocus pocus, that we might want some time together; last request of a dying man and whatnot."  He waggled a distractingly lascivious brow at Buffy.  "But I think the sooner we do this, the better," he concluded with an almost sad tone.

Anxiously, Fred asked, "If you're sure?"

"I am."

Moments later, Spike and Buffy stood in front of the opening of a large plexi-glass chamber as Fred and Knox did a final scan of the portal field.  Willow sat on the floor in the small adjacent private office, clearing her mind in preparation for her incantation.  Wesley was leaning against the front desk with a clear view of both Willow and the time-travel chamber when Gunn appeared with Lorne.  

"You think this'll work?"

"It has to," Wes said simply.  Seeing Willow's nod of readiness, he announced, "It's time."

Buffy took Spike's hand.  They saw the portal open.  

He squeezed her hand then, as he released it, he entered the chamber.  

As Buffy stepped forward, the portal closed.  "What the-?"

***

After a flash of bright lights and screeching sounds, Spike opened his eyes.  "Home... sweet... home."

... Thirty-Five:  RETURN


	36. 35 Return

Thirty-five:  RETURN 

"OK... What do I do?  What do I do?" Spike asked himself trying to shake the cobwebs from his head and figure out where exactly he was.  "Buffy?!"  He scanned the area then with a mix of relief and disappointment, realized that the portal worked as Fred has said and Buffy had been left behind.  Patting himself down, he found the box of micro-whatsits.  "Let's see if these things really work."  

While wandering down the street, Spike figured he'd start small:  withdraw some cash from a bank machine, grab a bite to eat and find a place to stay.  He pulled the box of mini-computers out of his pocket so he'd have one of the special ones ready, but as he rounded the corner, he bumped into someone going in the opposite direction.  The little black tiles tumbled out of the box and scattered across the sidewalk and onto the street.  "Bugger," Spike grumbled as he dropped to his knees to collect the fallen devices.

"Oh, I'm awfully sorry," said the little old man.  

"S'alright," mumbled Spike absently while pushing the computer tiles together into a pile.

"But I wasn't watching where I was going and now..."

That voice.  Spike looked up:  Doc, that little demon; the one who'd stabbed him and tossed him off the tower.  Spike glanced around, thinking that if he could just kill that creature --- snap his neck right there on the street --- time would be corrected because he wouldn't be able to slash poor little Dawn.  No.  He couldn't do it, not yet; not there.  Though Doc appeared as a frail little old man, Spike knew that even when he was a vampire, the demon had the strength, speed and cunning to put up a good fight.  Besides, a fight in the middle of the street would draw too much attention; he'd have to wait.  Maybe after dark, when the old guy is alone, Spike could take him out.

Motioning near the wall, Doc told Spike, "You missed one over there."

"Thanks, mate," he replied grudgingly as he reached for the other "domino".  

"Good day."

Spike watched as Doc toddled down the street.  Sneering, he was determined to get the old geezer.

***

Spike had dozed off in the motel room he'd rented and it was now late night.  "Time to go."  He grabbed his jacket, the knife he'd bought at the sporting goods shop, and a stake he'd fashioned, then he set off for Doc's place.

There was something peaceful and comforting about the quiet dark streets of Sunnydale that put Spike in a positive and relaxed state.  Had someone been watching him as he moved down side-streets, they'd have noticed the distinct shift in his stride from self-conscious plod to confident saunter.  He'd gone several blocks when all of a sudden a strange sensation came over him:  it was as if for a moment his heart had stopped and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.  Sliding his hand around his back, he whipped the stake from the pocket of his jeans and turned in a flash, driving the stake in his fist through the air.  

Sure enough, in one seemingly quick fell swoop, his would-be attacker exploded into dust.  In what might have been a moment of triumph, Spike's breathing was laboured and his heart pounded in his chest.  He was shaking --- shaking to the point he could hardly hold the stake in his hand.  Doubling over, Spike began to retch.  

When the sensation began to pass, with the back of his stake hand pressed to his lips and his other gripping his gut, he straightened.  "Oh god."  He could have been dead --- killed before he'd had a chance to complete his mission, before he could save Buffy.  "What the bloody hell am I doin' out here?" Spike asked himself with his jaw locked tightly and his arms thrown high in the air.  Pacing, he grumbled, "Not a vampire anymore, you git."  Then he turned abruptly to continue in the opposite direction.  "Not safe to go wanderin' the streets at night.  Got a job to do."  Again, he changed directions.  "Can't go—"

In an instant, that strange feeling returned so he ducked into the shadows, putting his back against a brick wall to ensure no one could sneak up on him from behind.

"You breathe a word of this to Buffy," Spike heard his vampire self say.  "I'll see to it that _you_ end up in the ground.  Got it?"

  
"Yeah," young Dawn replied.  "Got it."

"Come on Platelet."

Spike remained out of sight listening as the clomp of his other self's boots of his other self faded.  This wouldn't be the night to kill Doc.

***

_They wandered into a musty old shop scattered with maps and books, and strange old trinkets._

_"Hey!" Spike called out.  "Anybody home?"_

_From behind the thin curtains veiling a back room, an old man appeared in a tattered bathrobe putting on glasses with large round lenses.  "I know you," the fellow announced with a slight look of surprise._

_"Don't think so, mate," Spike countered offhandedly._

_"No, no, you're that guy, that... that guy, hangs around down at the corner mart," he insisted, waggling his finger at the bewildered Spike.  "Big into dominoes, aren't you?"_

_"Can't say as I am," said Spike politely, not wanting to put the old man off.  "Look, we came here because—"  _

_The old fellow chuckled.  "That's crazy, isn't it?  I mean, I-I... I'd swear, you were that guy.  I mean, your hair's a different color and you're a vampire," he began to mutter in an increasingly bewildered manner, "but uh, other than that..."_

_Dawn turned to Spike with her apprehension clearly visible in her eyes.  "Maybe we should just go."_

_"No. Now, just because the lights are dim," the old guy said, "doesn't mean the juice is all gone. What can I do for you?"_

_"This one's mum kicked it a few days back," Spike explained, trying to curb the hoarseness caused by the lump forming in his throat._

_Wrinkled hands clasped together at the man's chest and sympathetic eyes looked at Dawn through his huge lenses.  "Oh.  I'm so sorry."_

_"So we were wondering," added Spike, "what's to be done about it?  Heard you were the one to ask."_

***

Back in his motel room, Spike kicked off his shoes, tossed his jacket over the back of a chair and went to take a shower before turning in for the night.  

"So that's when this is," he remarked as the warm water washed over him.  He'd been sent back to the week after Joyce died.  If he and Dawn were out looking for Doc that would mean this was late the day after the kind lady's funeral.  How Buffy must be suffering.  "Buffy..."

Spike finished his shower and his bedtime routine.  Cuddling a pillow to his chest, he settled in for the night thinking of Buffy.

***

_He lay beside her, cradling her glistening body with his own in the afterglow of their lovemaking._

_"Spike?"__ Buffy spoke with a ragged voice._

_"Yes luv?"_

_Burrowing back against him and pulling his arms tighter around herself, she whispered, "This could be it," as if she was afraid to hear herself say it._

_"Yes luv."  He knew it would be, knew that tomorrow they'd be parted again --- this time, forever --- but for now, he just wanted to savour those last moments with his beloved Buffy._

_"Spike, I can't lose you again," Buffy insisted._

_Lifting his head up to nuzzle against her neck, he pressed kisses to her sensitive skin as he hushed her._

_"But Spike... I love you."  
_

_He chuckled as the tears came to his eyes._

_"Should I start this program over?"_

***

Spike bolted upright in bed, awake.  "Bugger!"  Rubbing his hands briskly back and forth through his hair, he groused, "I gotta get that robot!  Buffy can't find out about that."

He leapt out of bed in a panic.  Stumbling around the room, he pulled on his clothes.  After he'd tied his shoes, Spike raced out the door.

Spike had run only a couple of blocks when his mind started to muddle, slowing him to a trot.  "Wait."  He stopped completely.  "What was I doing?" he wondered.  As he began to look around for something that might point him in the right direction, his vision started to blur.  He was getting dizzy and feeling nauseous.  "Oh no!"  In a near-final moment of clarity, Spike realized he'd dashed off without his stabilizers; he had to get back to his room.

After fumbling to get the key out of his pocket and into the lock, Spike threw the door open and lunged desperately at the nightstand where his micro-computers were.  Clutching them to his chest, he collapsed with a heavy but relieved breath onto the bed.  

"Alright, so lesson the first:  don't go out after dark," he recapped.  "Lesson the second, don't go anywhere without Fred's computer thingies."

***

By the time he'd regained his full faculties, Spike realized just how stupid running off to kidnap the Buffybot was.  "Can't take the robot; Buffy needs it."  Although Buffy had believed it to be "gross and obscene", the robot had proved useful in the fight against Glory and ultimately after Buffy was gone, it had protected Sunnydale for months, leaving Spike more time to watch over Dawn.  "Nope.  Won't need the robot for that this time," he assured himself.  "Buffy won't have to jump; she'll be here to protect Sunnydale herself."  Spike would see to that, but first, he'd have to survive until then.  

After a quick stretch and a rub of his tummy, Spike decided he needed to get some snacks and supplies to tide him over while he awaited his big moment.  "Bright sunny day:  check.  Computer domino things:  check.  Room key: check."  One more scan of the room to see if anything else sprang to mind --- nothing did --- and he was off.  

At the bank machine, Spike realized that Fred's little devices worked extremely well and without anyone raising so much as an eyebrow, he had plenty of cash to last him... a while.  With the bundle of twenty dollar bills and his little electronic mind controllers tucked in his pocket, he wandered to the mall for clothes and supplies to last him a few days.  A couple of new shirts, a package of pens and a notepad, a book, some snack foods and a case of beer, and Spike decided he'd be prepared for a couple of days at least.  

On his way out of the mall, he caught sight of Xander in a jewellery store.  "Must be buyin' the ring for Anya," Spike supposed.  "Maybe things'll turn out differently for them as well."  Holding the case of beer on his shoulder to block his face, he continued past the store.  

Out on the street heading back to the motel, he was struck by that same strange... awareness he'd had the night of the vampire attack.  He slowed, cautiously glancing around before stopping completely, baffled by the feeling.  "What the..."  Though it was getting late in the afternoon, the sun was still bright.  As a vampire, he wouldn't have been caught out even under his blanket with the conditions as they were, so he ruled out the sensation as being some sort of new found gift of vampire detection.  Looking around, he caught the briefest glimpse of a pair of brown robes in his peripheral vision.  "Bugger!"  Clutching his bags and his beer, he ran --- while it was likely Glory's minions weren't actually looking for him, he didn't want to wind up her afternoon snack.  

Safely back at his motel after what might have been another "close call", Spike realized that he should probably hold himself up in his room until he figured out exactly when he'd make his attack.  "No time like the present," Spike said as he set out his computer devices then dug into his shopping bag for his paper and pens.  He sat down at the small table to plot out his plan.  Maybe he'd have another crack at taking out Doc.  He'd be more prepared this time and he wouldn't assume that because the bloke was old that he was also frail and weak.  Or maybe he could find Ben and kill the poor sod who housed Glory before the evil hell bitch figured out that Dawn was the key.  Spike had spent more than a hundred years taking human lives, what would one more be in the name of humanity?  

Unfortunately, Spike had no idea what either of them did over the course of those days and the micro-computer things Fred had provided didn't give any insight into their whereabouts in that time either.  

"Hang on."  There was a time he could remember:  Ben was with Buffy and the others at the abandoned gas station out on the highway just a couple of days before the ritual.  They'd be on their way there any day now.  "No..."  Spike couldn't go there.  He had no transportation and even if he did, there'd be a significant risk of fatal injury.  Between the Knights of Byzantium in their attack on the Scoobies and Glory herself, who would slaughter every living thing within a three mile radius of Willow's protection field, he wouldn't be safe outside the station.  But if he went out early, before the rest of the gang arrived at the station, he wouldn't be able to avoid Buffy seeing him and that wouldn't do because Buffy's awareness of his future self could influence her actions.  

He'd pondered trying to catch Ben on his way out to the station, but realized that wouldn't be a good idea either:  Giles would die.  For a moment, he considered Giles' behaviour over the past couple of years and wondered if perhaps letting Giles die wouldn't be such a bad idea.  But no, Buffy needed the man.  Spike knew Buffy was already destined to spiral into a emotional puddle that left the Slayer in a fugue state for the better part of a full day; she wouldn't be able to take losing Giles too.  Spike had to let most events play out exactly as they did.  

He'd have to wait until the battle itself before he could act.

...36 RESOLVE


	37. 36 Resolve

36  RESOLVE

Spike awoke to that same strange feeling he'd experienced several times since he'd arrived back in Sunnydale.  Lying on his back, staring at the ceiling, he didn't suspect any danger which made him wonder if the feeling was some sort of déjà vu.  What if he'd relived these days, months or even years, over and over again?  Had some of these moments been key to past failures?  Would he fail again?  Was he doomed for all eternity to bare the guilt of Buffy's death as penance for his crimes?

"Ah you stupid git," he chided as he threw off the blankets and rolled out of bed.  "You've just been shut up in this room alone too bloody long."  But this was it:  this would be his day of redemption.  

After a long hot shower and dressing in clean clothes, Spike picked up the box of Fred's gadgets.  Holding them helped clarify his memory of that last day.  With a glance to the clock on the nightstand, Spike figured they'd be in the desert by now --- Buffy, Dawn, the Scoobies, his other self --- on their doomed flight from Glory.  Maybe they'd even be at the gas station fighting the Knights while Giles bleeds on the counter.  Or maybe they'd be "enjoying" their all too short reprieve.  

After collecting his few essentials, Spike left the motel room for what he knew would be the last time.  At the convenience store, he made one last stop at the bank machine, pulling out the few hundred dollars it would allow.  Then he headed to Buffy's house for a final walk down memory lane.  

He'd wanted to go days earlier --- wanted to go from virtually the moment he'd arrived --- but he knew he couldn't risk Buffy or one of the others seeing him.  But now it would be safe:  the gang would be all day in the desert; Glory and her minions would be too preoccupied with finding the key and preparing for the ritual to bother with him; and, for the time-being, vampires and other more dangerous demons would be laying low.

***

It was so strange being in that house again; how different it seemed from the last days and nights he'd spent there.  There weren't piles of sleeping bags, pillows and dirty laundry all over the living room, nor was there the lingering odour of stale pizza or sweaty teenagers.  Climbing the stairs, Spike scanned the photos of Dawn and Buffy when they were younger... happier --- in a time before any of the horror of being the Slayer ever entered Buffy's life.  

Turning at the top of the stairs into Buffy's room --- the room that back then the girls still viewed as their mum's --- Spike tried not to think of the only private conversation he'd had with Buffy in that room.  Even without remembering the words, he could still feel the pain of it:  of actually saying aloud that she'd used him to take out her self-hatred and of hearing her admit it.  "Won't happen now," he choked, shaking himself from his melancholic reverie.  Buffy wouldn't have to hate herself because she wouldn't have to die and be dragged back from "heaven".  He'd never know the feel or the taste of her body --- and that, he supposed, would make life easier for his other self.

Going to the armoire, he pulled from his pocket the bundle of cash he'd collected and tucked it into one of the drawers.  It wasn't much, he knew, but he hoped that it would help Buffy and Dawn for a while.  

Returning to the stairs, he headed straight for the basement --- perhaps partly out of habit, but certainly in part of need.  Some of his most treasured moments the previous year, had been spent in that basement with Buffy.  She first told him she believed in him there; she made him believe he could be a champion there; and they'd just shared time close to each other there.  But now, even the basement looked different.  Although there were the same cinder block walls, there were no exercise mats or other training equipment; no sign of chains on the wall; "his" cot was folded up and half lost behind boxes of old junk:  memories of the Summers women that would be lost when the basement floods.  But maybe that wouldn't happen this time either.

***

The sun had set by the time Spike had pulled himself out of Buffy's basement to go outside to the back porch to wait.  For him, that house was filled with so many memories --- ironic considering scarcely more than six months earlier he had virtually none.  

Lost in his own thought, he didn't notice when they arrived:  Buffy and Spike's other self.  The clank of weapons being pulled from the chest snapped him back to the present and in that instant, it was as if he could see the scene unfold. 

_"I know that I'm a monster,"_ he would say,_ "but you treat me like a man..."_  He'd feel awkward, looking up to see her face, and quickly change the subject.  _"Get your stuff.  I'll be here."_  

Then she'd disappear up the stairs and he'd hear her rummaging through drawers and closets.  It would be quiet for a time.  

Spike hadn't realized when he first said it just how true his words to her had been, but back then she had treated him like a man.  She'd trusted him with her family, asked for his help, for his opinion, and on that last day, she'd invited him back into her house.  His true awareness of the contrast between the treatment of man and monster was yet to come, however, for she would treat him as the latter as well.  When she'd first come back, he thought he'd be able to care for her tenderly, but soon he learned that wasn't what she wanted; she wanted pain, so that's what he delivered.  The shame of that time brought tears to his eyes.  As he gasped back a sob, he realized that she was crying too --- overhead through the open bathroom window, he could hear her.

"Stop it," Buffy ordered herself not to cry.  The faucet went on and then off; she must have splashed water on her face.  Shortly thereafter, she left the bathroom and thumped back down the stairs to where she would reappear, all-business, to his other self.  _"You ready?"_ she'd ask.  

He'd nod and open the door, chivalrously waiting for her to go before following after her.

With the pair gone, Spike went back inside the house for a final goodbye and equipment check then he headed out into the night.  Although he meant to go to the ritual site, he found himself a block from the Magic Box as the group began their last march.

_"OK, everybody knows their jobs.  Remember:  the ritual starts, we all die," Buffy said sternly.  "And I'll kill anyone who comes near Dawn."_

_"Well, not exactly the Saint Crispin's Day speech, was it?" he remarked._

_"We few, we happy few..."_

_"We band of buggered."_

Buffy didn't leave with them then; she stayed behind some time after so Spike peeked into the shop window.  There was Buffy, talking to herself --- but not herself.  She was explaining the plan to the Buffybot as the pair changed clothes.  

"Get a grip," he grumbled, shamed by his brief drift into the fantasy of being with the two Buffys.  "Gross and obscene," he reminded, before he ducked away to hide behind a parked car as the two left the shop --- the Bot hurrying to catch up with the others and Buffy following more slowly behind to conserve her energy and maintain her composure.

Being extra cautious not to be seen or caught along the way, it took Spike longer than he'd expected to get to the ritual site.  

"Buffy!" he heard Dawn's terrified shriek as he approached the lot where the tower had been erected.  "I'm up here!"

Turning his eyes skyward, he arrived in time to see Buffy plunge earthward in a streak of white, like a shooting star against the darkness.  "Oh god..." he gasped as a rush of terror and nausea came over him at the thought that Buffy had already died; that he'd arrived too late; that he'd failed her again.  Running to the gate, he feared seeing her broken body, but to his great relief she was still alive and back on her feet fighting Glory.  With a deep focusing breath and a squeeze of his domino box, he felt reassured that everything was as it should be. 

Scanning the yard, Spike couldn't see any of the Scoobies; they must have been trying to figure out their next move.  Spike knew that meant;  "There he is," Spike growled when he saw Doc, strolling almost unnoticed by anyone around toward the tower.  Soon he'd be atop the platform with Dawn.  

Pretending to be one of Glory's poor daft victims working on the site, Spike cautiously made his way along the perimeter fence.  Then in a whirl, he saw himself rush forward as the mob at the base of the tower was flung out of the way.  For the briefest moment he wondered what it must have been like when Buffy first saw the robot; perhaps this was a similar experience.  But this was no time for reflection on his... reflection.  Dashing toward the tower, he took the first stairs three at a time, trying to keep up with his other self without drawing too much attention.  As he approached the top, he had to keep a rein on himself and wait for just the right opportunity.  Crouching just below the platform level, Spike listened anxiously.

"I don't smell a soul anywhere on you," Doc remarked, flummoxed.  "Why do you even care?"

Spike's other self defiantly declared, "I made a promise to a lady."  

"Oh?"  

Anticipating the demon's smug final words, Spike was incensed and dug his fist into his pocket for Fred's special red-tabbed micro-tasers.  With the safety controls removed, he sucked in one last long breath through his nose as his jaw locked.   This was the critical moment—

"Then I'll send the lady your regrets."

When Dawn screamed and his vampire self moaned, Spike knew the girl would be watching as his other self plummeted to the ground.  In that instant, with their cries echoing in his ears, he burst onto the platform.  As his eyes locked on Doc, Spike didn't see a frail little old man; he didn't see a demon.  Spike saw Buffy's broken body; he saw her broken spirit.  And for a moment, he saw Jude.  Spike was desperate:  he could not fail.  As he rushed forward, the world seemed to slow.  _Every night I save you._  Slamming into his foe from behind, Spike reached around and jammed the mini taser into Doc's chest as the two flew off the tower, camouflaged by the cloak of darkness.

Minutes later, wide-eyed with fear and gasping for breath, Dawn cried, "Buffy!" when her sister appeared on the tower platform.

"Oh Dawn...."  The Slayer leapt to the girl's side.  With a wavering smile, Buffy stroked the side of Dawn's face.  "I'm so glad you're alright," she exclaimed with her voice quivering.  Balling up her hands in fists several times to still their shaking, Buffy struggled to untie her sister's restraints.  

Once she was freed, Dawn grabbed Buffy and held her tightly as she sobbed.

"Shh... It's OK," Buffy cooed.  "You're safe now.  Shh..."  When her sister seemed calmer, the Slayer pulled back to see her face and asked, "But... how?  Dawn, what happened?" 

"It was Spike," Dawn squeaked, as she let go of her sister.  "Oh god..."  She clasped a hand over her mouth then anxiously went to peer over the edge of the tower, trying to see the ground below.  

"Dawn!  Get away from there!"  Buffy snatched the girl's arm and pulled her back from the edge and toward the base of the tower structure.

"But Spike!"  Dawn stood firm, forcing Buffy to look squarely at her.  "Is he OK?"

Buffy went pale.  Leaning over one of the large tower girders, Buffy glanced from her sister over the edge and back again.  "You mean..."  Apprehensively, she swallowed hard and asked, "He went off the tower?  From way up here?"

Together the two fearful young women made their way to the bottom clinging to each other, Buffy supporting Dawn as she stumbled in bare-feet over metal grates and rough wooden planks.

"We have to hurry," the teen insisted.  "I have to know he's OK.  Buffy... this was my fault."

"Don't be ridiculous," her sister scolded as she jumped off at the bottom of the tower.  "You couldn't—"

"Spike!" Dawn shrieked.

The Slayer followed her sister's sightline to find Spike lying in a heap of shattered bricks and bones.  She grimaced as Dawn flew past her to rush to her friend's side.  When she reached Spike's side, the younger girl dropped to her knees to assess his condition.

"'m fine, Nibblet."  Spike struggled to push himself up, clutching at his side and grimacing.  "Just keepin' my promise."

More tentatively, Buffy followed crossing her arms awkwardly.  As she moved across the yard, Giles appeared looking sullen.  

Before either of them could speak, Xander called out with guarded optimism," "Buffy... Is it over?" from where he'd been crouched with Anya, who clung desperately to his arm. 

"Ben's dead," Giles stated quietly.  

Shocked, Buffy tried to explain, "But I didn't—"

Giles didn't give her the chance.  "Glory won't be a threat again."

Buffy, who understood what the man was telling her, nodded weakly before turning in Xander's direction.  "Yeah, I think it's over."  Looking back at Giles, oddly relieved, she smiled and rested a hand on his arm to be sure she had his attention.  "Thanks Giles.  You did what I couldn't," she said.  Then, shaking her head with a huff, she added, "I threatened to kill my friends if they came near Dawn, but I couldn't kill the guy who shared Glory's body."  

"Um... Buffy?" 

Turning, Buffy saw Willow approach with Tara.  "Tara?"  The Slayer glanced to Willow.  "She's—"  Then she looked back at Tara.  "You're OK?"

"Yeah... yes, um... Willow... brought me back," the timid witch stammered with a shy smile.  "I just...  What should I do with this?" she asked, cradling the Buffybot's head in her hands.

"Just remind me to find Warren and kick his ass," Buffy grumbled.

"So you did it," Willow declared.  "You stopped Glory and the ritual?"

"I guess we did," the Slayer acknowledged.  

Wrapping her arm around his back for support as she tried to push him up for his due thanks, Dawn insisted, "Spike did." 

"I didn't—" he choked while wiping at the blood dribbling down his face.

"He must have grabbed that old guy," Dawn supposed, pointing to the unconscious demon a couple of dozen feet away, "when he went off the tower.  Buffy, he was going to cut me up to start the ritual, but Spike stopped him!"

Standing over Spike, Buffy asked reservedly, "Can you walk?"

"Yeah."  He nodded reassuringly.  "Not a probl—ugh-m," he groaned.

Buffy winced and lunged to support him.  

Spike leaned away from her, pausing a moment, staring into her face as if he were baffled by the gesture.  

She smiled at him then, meeting his eyes briefly before looking away.  "Let me give you a hand," Buffy offered.  "Hey Xander, could you...?"  At her request, her friend took the vampire's other side.  "We should get him inside; sun's coming up."

***

Some time after dark, exhilarated by their experiences in Pylea, Angel and his friends bounded into the courtyard of the Hyperion as their chatter echoed all around them.  Angel had overcome the darkness into which he'd been sinking over the past year; they'd saved both Cordelia and the young physicist she'd seen in her vision; and together with Lorne, Gunn and Wesley, they'd freed an entire race from slavery --- not bad for a few days work.

"Are-are you sure about that?" asked Fred timidly.

  
"Trust me:  tacos, everywhere," Cordelia assured, with a comforting hand on the nervous little newcomer's arm, "and soap!" 

"Yo, that portal jumping is a fun ride."  Raising a finger to emphasize the importance of his idea, Gunn suggested enthusiastically, "We sell it to a theme park, we could get paid!" 

"Okay. Can I say it? I wanna say it."  In a display of uncharacteristic excitement, Angel sprang up the stairs to stand on the landing outside the Hotel.

"Say what?" asked an amused Wesley.

Throwing open the Hyperion doors, Angel declared, "There's no place like home!"

The others followed in behind him, laughing and groaning at him.  

"So what now?" asked Cordelia just before the telephone rang.

"You made that happen, you know," Gunn moaned to Cordelia.

"I'll get it."  Angel practically danced across the lobby to grab the phone.  "Angel Investigations.  We help—"

"Angel?  It's Buffy."

The smile on the vampire's face was quickly replaced by a look of concern.  "Buffy, what is it?  Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, ah... I just wanted to call," she replied, "to let you know... um... there's nothing to worry about anymore.  Dawn and I are going to be OK."

"Oh, I'm glad to hear that.  I'm sorry I—"

"Um... I can't talk; I've got to run," Buffy blurted.  "I just thought you'd want to know.  Bye."

***

Buffy wandered into the training room behind the Magic Box to where Spike was laid out in a corner on a mat.  Crouching down beside him with a mug of warmed blood, she asked, "How are you doing?"

He sighed.  "Bit better I s'ppose.  Thanks," he said, taking the mug.

"That's nothing."  She shrugged.  "But Spike," Buffy stressed as she rested her hand on his and squeezed it gently, "What you did today... You saved the world.  Thank you."

***

As he leapt toward Doc, in a flash, Spike wondered what would become of his other self and those for whom he cared, but when he and the old demon flew clear of the platform, he knew all he needed to know.  In that moment, Spike understood what Buffy once told him:

_I was happy._

_Wherever I... was, I was happy... at peace.  I knew that everyone I cared about was alright.  I knew it.  Time... didn't mean anything.  Nothing had form... but I was still me, you know?  And I was warm.  And I was loved.  And I was finished.  Complete._

He was.

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~end~

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(or is it merely a new beginning?)


End file.
